Over your shoulder
by McLance
Summary: A misguided young girl, Beth, meets the guys, and finds her way back from the dark road she was headed down, learning what true friendship and love is all about.
1. Chapter 1

It had started out mostly like any other day. After I'd gotten up, and dressed, I ate my usual bowl of dry Cheerios. Mostly because that's

all there really was in the house to eat.

Then I took a quick look around front thru the window, before I went out, to see if I spotted the landlord, Mrs. Shields, anywhere

around. Being as we were late with the rent, and also since she didn't know Gramps wasn't even there, it wouldn't do for

her to see me, and start asking a bunch of questions. When I didn't see her, I slipped out, locking the front door, and ran to the side of the house to grab my bike.

I pedaled to the beach, where I was supposed to meet up with Sasha, my not-really friend, and partner in petty crime. She as usual,

was late. We'd arranged to meet at a different section of the beach today. We'd worked the other sides of the beach, until

we were now familiar faces to the regulars that frequented those areas. It wouldn't do to keep going back to the same places. Somebody

was bound to be getting wise to us, if they hadn't already. I felt a shiver go down my back, at the thought of getting caught by the

police.

Since I had to wait for Sasha anyway, and since it was really too early for the sun-worshipping beach fanantics to be out yet, I parked

my bike up out of the way, and walked down to the edge of the water. I don't usually get to enjoy everything the beach and ocean

have to offer, because Sasha and I are always trying to hustle somebody. And when we're not doing that, I'm trying to find a way

to go see Gramps at the rehabilitation center. So I sat down in the sand, watching the waves for a few minutes, and then, when

a glance up towards my bike showed no Sasha as yet, I got up, and took off my sandals, and walked further down the beach.

I was kind of lost in my own thoughts, and that's when I first saw him. He was coming out of the water, shaking his head a little. He

picked up a towel that was lying there on the sand, and started rubbing his wet hair with it.

I was going to pass by without saying anything, but he looked at me, and smiled. He had the whitest, straightest teeth

I'd ever seen in my life. And a killer smile.

"Hullo," he said, with what I thought was an English accent.

"Hi."

"Are you going in?" he asked, gesturing to the water. "It'll wake you up."

"No, I'm not going in," I said.

"Yeah. It's a bit on the nip."

I didn't tell him that it wouldn't make any difference in whether the water was balmy or ice cold. I couldn't swim. Everybody in California

can swim. So I wouldn't admit that to a good friend, if I had one, let alone a total stranger like the one standing in front of me. Even

if he did have a killer smile.

"New 'round here?" he asked me then. "I haven't seen ya around before."

Since I obviously couldn't tell him any truths about myself, I shrugged and just said, "Yeah," which, really, he could interpret to

mean anything at all.

He looked a little puzzled, but didn't lose his friendly persona. "My name's Davy," he said. He turned to point to a house up the side

of the beach. "That's our pad. Me and my friends."

Since he was so obviously waiting for me to tell him my name, I said the first thing that came into my head. I wasn't going to tell him

my real name.

"I'm Sasha," I mumbled, and then heard yelling, and when I turned, Sasha was waving and calling to me from up near the bike.

I turned to run up the beach, towards her, and he called after me, "Bye."

I didn't answer or turn around to wave.

I was out of breath by the time I reached the point where Sasha was standing. "Who's the dude?" she asked me.

"Just a guy," I said vaguely.

"He looks cute from here. Was he?"

I could have told her that yes, he was very, very cute. And nice, too. But I didn't feel like talking about it.

"He's alright," I said. "Come on. Let's go."

That morning, we pulled one of our now familiar routines. Sasha would pretend that she was just a casual beach-goer,

and that her wallet had been stolen, while she was swimming. She would begin to cry, or pretend cry, which she was very good at.

Then she would pretend rising hysteria at losing money that was to be meant for food for her little brother.

Getting louder and louder, she would gather sympathy from other beach-goers, who would leave their own blankets and belongings,

to try and comfort her, leaving enough time, supposedly, for me to grab a few wallets.

I took the three wallets, and pocket watch that I'd managed to snag, and ran up the beach to wait on the bench beside my bike.

While I waited for Sasha to get done with her stolen wallet routine, I looked back down towards the beach.

The guy I'd been talking to earlier was still there, in approximately the same spot as before, sitting at the edge of the water. As I

watched, another guy came down the stairs from the house and, after some playful scuffling and what looked like sand throwing, he sat

down in the sand beside Guy 1. Guy 2 was a little taller, and had what looked like from this distance to be a mass of curly hair.

It looked like they were laughing. I was so intent on watching them that I didn't hear Sasha until she was right beside me.

"Hey," she said, and I jumped.

"How'd we do, Beth?" she asked me.

I held out the wallets, and the watch to show her.

"How much money?" she demanded.

"I don't know. I didn't look yet," I said, and she rolled her eyes.

She grabbed the wallets and started pulling out the cash. I didn't tell her the reason I hadn't looked the first thing was because

I was watching Guy 1 and his friend.

7

We split up the money. Approximately fifteen bucks apiece. And the watch.

"You take it," she told me. I knew it wasn't from any spirit of generosity on her part, though. Sure enough, a moment later,

she added, "There's a new pawn shop on Carter Avenue opening up. Take it there and pawn it. Better wait a couple of days, though."

"Why don't you do it?" I asked her. I planned to use my time going to see Gramps.

Sasha gave me a look of superiority. "Because. I've got things to do. Let's meet up again day after tomorrow. A little further down

the beach this time. About ten?"

I knew I shouldn't let Sasha bully me, and boss me around. But sometimes, it just took too much effort to argue with her.

"Fine," I said shortly.

"Later," she said, and was gone. I watched her go, not liking the way I felt. I'd met Sasha earlier in the summer, when she and another

girl were doing what we were doing now. The other girl, Rhonda, got caught by some guy whose wallet she was lifting. Sasha, however,

managed to slip away. I'd asked Sasha once what would keep Rhonda from narcing on her. She'd given me a cold look.

"She knows that wouldn't be very smart of her."

"Why?"

"It wouldn't be good for her safety."

I hadn't known just what she meant, but I'd felt a chill go down my back. I'd told myself that it didn't matter, really. I was only going

to do these things, hustling and stealing, for a short time. Just long enough to keep myself afloat, and off of the Children's

Services radar. Until Gramps got back home. Then I'd go back to being me. Which was the kid that Gramps had raised. A good person.

Then, I always told myself, we'd find another way to get by.

I planned to go to the house, and grab my backpack, and then catch the bus to go see Gramps. They're kind of strict about the

visiting hours at the rehabilitation place. It's a pretty long ride on the bus, and I needed to get started soon, or I wouldn't be

able to find a bus to get back home.

When I was getting ready to get on my bike, I saw that the patch job I'd done on one of my tires was done for. I sighed.

Now I'd have to have that fixed, before I could even do anything else.

I was suddenly hungry. I focused on the snack shack up the beach. I'd grab a hot dog or something, and then push my bike

to a service station to have the tire repaired.

I took my sandals off again, and walked down to the little white food stand.

"Just opening," the guy said to me. "It'll be a few minutes."

"Okay," I said, and walked on. I found myself in pretty much the same vicinity that I'd met Guy 1 in earlier that morning. There

was a volleyball net set up in the sand, and near the steps of the house he'd pointed out, there was a grill set up. Guy 2, the one

with the curly hair, was flipping hamburgers. Guy 1 was fooling around with a volleyball, tossing it into the air, and then trying to

bend his knee to bounce it.

When he saw me, he waved. "Hullo, again," he called.

I gave a half-hearted wave, as he walked over to me.

"It's Sasha, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

He turned to Guy 2. "Hey, Micky, this is Sasha."

"Hey," the one called Micky said. He smiled in a friendly way.

"We're goin' to be havin' a game here after a bit," Davy told me. "A group of the kids around here. Want to join in?"

"I'm not very good at volleyball," I said, feeling shy.

"That's okay. It's all in fun. We're goin' to have a bit of lunch first. You hungry?"

"I couldn't just come and eat off you guys," I said.

Davy waved away my concerns. "Sure. It's alright. Right, Mick?"

Guy 2, or Micky, turned and grinned at me. "Sure. The more, the merrier."

I suddenly, inexplicably, wanted to stay. Very, very much.

"Okay," I said. "Thanks." It wouldn't hurt anything, I rationalized to myself. I could eat, and hang out for awhile, and then

be on my way. No harm, no foul.

Later, much later, I thought to myself, how different my life would have been, how bereft of friendship and love, if I

hadn't said that I'd stay.

monkees4ever

This is my first attempt at writing for The Monkees fan fiction, although I've written other Fanfiction stories. Please leave

reviews and let me know if this story should continue, and if you are interested in learning more about Beth, and how the friendship

of four special young men changed the course of her life.


	2. Guy 3 and Guy 4

I thought I might feel strange, being around so many people I didn't know. But that didn't really happen. Mostly

because Davy, and Micky, too, made sure I was introduced to some of their friends, who'd come to join in the cookout and

volleyball game. And, when I was feeling a bit shy, Micky chose that moment to hand me a big platter.

"Mind holding this?" he asked, and then put it in my hands before I could answer. He began taking the hamburgers

from the grill and putting them on the platter with the long barbeque tongs.

Another guy, this one a blonde, his hair long and with what seemed to me to be enthusiasm in his step,

came down the stairs carrying a carton of Cokes in each hand.

"Hey, Pete, this is Sasha. Sasha, this is Peter," Micky said, using the hamburger tongs to gesture back and forth.

"Hi, Sasha," Peter greeted me, with a wide, friendly smile.

"Hi."

I'd already figured out thru their conversation that Micky and Davy were roommates. After Micky was done

filling the platter with hamburgers, he took it from me, carrying it to a picnic table set up to the side of the

volleyball net. Which left me, standing there with Guy 3.

I looked at him, feeling shy.

"Want a Coke?" he asked me.

"Yes. Sure."

He held out a carton to me, and I took a Coke bottle.

When he produced a bottle opener from one of his hands, I took it and opened my Coke.

"Are you a roommate, too?" I asked him. "Of Davy and Micky's?"

"Yep."

He gave me another smile. "It's great to have a new face around. The games are usually a lot of fun." He set the cartons of Coke on the sand, and opened a bottle of Coke for himself, taking a long drink.

"I told Davy that I'm not very good at volleyball. He said it doesn't matter, but I'd feel kind of funny. I mean,

not knowing everybody-" my voice trailed off, and I looked at him.

"I dig it. It's not easy when you're shy."

I was so surprised that I looked at him wide-eyed. "How did you know?" I asked him.

"That you were shy?" Peter shrugged. "Just a sixth sense, I guess. Maybe because I'm shy, too."

I regarded him with interest. "You are?"

"Yeah. Sometimes. One thing I've discovered, though, is when you're feeling shy, just act as if you aren't. It helps," he told me.

"Come on," he said. "Looks like lunch is on."

I ate two hamburgers and some watermelon, and had to stop myself from reaching for more. I'd been hungrier than

I'd realized.

By the time the group of people, now consisting of around eight other people besides the three guys and me, started

playing a game of volleyball, it didn't take long for Davy to call to me to come be on the team he was on.

I shook my head, hoping I could just watch. I was still nervous that I would mess up and embarrass myself.

I didn't want to look like a loser. I liked this group of people, especially the guys, and I wanted them to like me.

"Hey," said a voice, quietly, and I turned to look up at Peter.

"Remember-when you're feeling shy, act as if you aren't," he said, leaning close to whisper to me. Then he walked

on thru the sand, to take a spot on the team opposite of Davy and Micky.

So I played in the game, and it wasn't like I thought it would be at all. Everybody just seemed to have a good time, and there

was no meanness, or anger if somebody missed the ball or sent it into the net. There was just a lot of laughter.

When I messed up a few times, Davy would yell, "That's alright!" And when I managed to do my part to keep the

ball volleying back and forth, he said, "That's the way!"

After a couple of games, when everybody stopped for drinks, I was shocked to hear someone say that it was

nearly three o'clock.

I went to retrieve my sandals, and sat down to strap them on.

"Stay around and we'll play some music," Davy said, as he and Micky paused beside where I sat.

"That sounds fun, but I can't," I said, busy fastening my sandals. Then, without thinking out my words,

I said, " My Gramps will be wondering where I'm at. If I don't hurry, the last bus won't get me home until after ten

tonight."

"Where in the bloomim' city do you live that you won't get a bus home until that late?" Davy asked.

I realized that I'd opened up the way for curiousity, and questions, by my slip up.

I looked up at both of them, from where I sat in the sand. Both of their foreheads were wrinkled in puzzlement.

"Oh," I said. "No. I mean-I need to go visit my Gramps first-and then go home-" I stumbled over my words, and then turned back to my shoes, hoping that they'd lose interest in the conversation.

"Hey, Sasha!" someone was calling.

I heard, but it didn't sink in, until Micky touched my shoulder. "Hey, Peter's yelling for you." When I looked up at him,

he added, in a pointed sort of way, "Sasha."

I met his eyes, but then looked away. My face felt all hot, and it seemed as though he could see thru me. See that I was lying.

I turned towards Peter, who was coming down from the hill.

He asked if that was my bike parked up above.

When I said that yes, it was, he said, "You've got a flat."

"Yeah. I know."

"You can't ride it like that," Davy pointed out.

"I'll push it to a service station," I said, getting to my feet.

"It's a long walk to a station," Micky said, in argument.

Suddenly, standing there with all three of them looking at me, so intently, I got really uncomfortable.

"It's cool," I said, brushing sand off the seat of my shorts. "Um-thanks for lunch, and the volleyball game, and all. I'll

see you guys."

"We've still got that bicycle pump and patch kit, don't we?" Davy asked, in a general way to both Peter and Micky.

"Yeah. Think so," Micky said.

"Come on up to the pad," Davy said, and Peter said, "Yeah. I'll grab your bike."

"No, really, that's okay-" I said, but they all three began walking away.

I trudged after Davy and Micky, trying to keep up with them in the sand.

"You guys don't have to do this-" I continued to protest. "Really. It's fine-"

"Can ya help us carry a bit of this stuff?" Davy asked me, and he and Micky began piling my arms full of

packages of leftover hamburger buns, and bottles of ketchup.

I said okay reluctantly. I mean, after all, they HAD supplied me with lunch, the best lunch I'd had in a while, and

they'd been awfully nice, too. And now they were intent on fixing my bicycle tire. So, though reluctant, I stopped

trying to convince them that I didn't need their help, and followed them up the stairs, all of us carrying various

cookout items. Peter wasn't far behind, carrying my bike up the steep stairs, with apparent ease.

At the door they stepped back, letting me go in first. The entire place was cheerful looking, colorful, but kind of messy. My

attention was caught nearly immediately by a guy sitting on the couch, a guitar in his hands. He had dark hair, on

the longish side, though not as long as Peter's. He was wearing cowboy boots.

"You missed a great cookout," Micky told Guy 4.

"You were supposed to save me a hamburger," Guy 4 said, without looking up from his strumming of the guitar

strings.

"We did. Hey Mike, meet Sasha. Sasha, this is Mike," Davy said.

Guy 4 looked up. "Hey," he greeted me, in an accent that I didn't recognize.

"Hi."

I followed Micky and Davy to the small kitchen area.

"You can set stuff down anywhere," Micky said.

Guy 4 got up and laid the guitar on the couch, and stretched his arms above his head. He was tall. Really tall.

He began to assemble a hamburger, adding generous amount of ketchup and mustard.

As he bit into it, he turned to look at Peter, who was beginning to work on my bicycle tire.

"Sasha needs her tire fixed before she can take off," Davy told Mike, in explanation.

"Ahh," Mike said, with a nod.

"You live near here?" Mike asked me.

I hesitated. Just the merest of seconds, but still a hesitation.

"A little ways from here," I answered.

Davy began bragging on what a great job I'd done in the volleyball game.

"She's got to be on our team whenever we play," he said, with a grin.

"Ahh," Mike said, again.

"Davy's just joking around," I said, feeling embarrassed. "I'm a pretty terrible player."

"No such thing," Davy denied.

While Peter was working on my bike tire, I went to stand next to him, and when Mike finished

his hamburger and went back to pick up his guitar, he called to Peter, "Hey, Pete, what do you

think?" and began to play a song.

Peter stopped working on the tire, and stood up straight, listening.

Then, he laid left the bike, and went to stand near the couch. "That's groovy." He

went to pick up another guitar, leaned against the side of the couch, and sat down, beginning

to join in with Mike's playing.

"Pete gets distracted," Micky said, coming to stand at my side, and shaking his head.

"It's okay." When I'd listened a couple more minutes, I said, "It's a great song. I've never

heard it before."

"You won't have. It's his song he's been working on."

"He writes songs?" I asked, incredulously.

"Sure," Micky said. He went over to a drum set near the glass sliding door, and sat down,

picking up a pair of drum sticks and after a couple of minutes of listening, he jumped in, too,

joining the song.

"Come on," Davy told me. "I'll help you with your tire."

So he finished up the patch on my tire, though he shook his head a bit.

"I've done the best I could, luv," he said. "But it's not gonna hold for long. You'll

have to get a new tire soon."

"Okay," I said.

When I saw that it was nearly four I told Davy that I needed to be going.

"Yeah. You've got to see your grandfather, right?" he asked.

I knew it was too late to catch a bus to see Gramps now. There wouldn't be another

one back until late, and even if it makes me sound like a baby, I don't like riding the

bus alone, or with strangers, after dark.

But I just said, "Yeah," to Davy.

"We'll walk a ways with you," Davy said then. "Come on, Micky."

"You don't need to," I began to protest.

"Don't sweat it," Davy said. "We want to. I'll go put on me jeans."

Micky, who'd already changed from his swimming trunks back to jeans, looked

at me. "There's no arguing with Davy," he said, with a grin.

"Well, but-" I began.

When I stopped talking, and hesitated again, Micky cocked his head at me.

"Hmm?" he questioned.

I had the same feeling again. As if he could see into my mind. My thoughts.

"Nothing," I said, looking away.

By the time Micky and Davy and I had said goodbye to Peter and Mike, and Micky

carried my bike down the stairs again, I'd already come up with a plan.

While I pushed my bike, and walked, with one of them on each side of me, they

kept up the conversation.

"You'll have to come and hear us sing," Davy was telling me. "We're singin' at

the opening of the new highway next weekend."

"You're a band?" I asked, interested in spite of my worries about fooling them.

"Yep. The Monkees."

I was suitably impressed. But I knew I probably wouldn't get to hear them sing next

weekend. I should end it now. Being around them felt like the beginnings of friendships.

I couldn't risk that.

When we'd walked a couple of blocks, I pointed ahead a bit, to a nice, suburban-type looking house,

complete with white picket fence.

"There's my house," I said, as I stopped pushing my bike. "Thanks for walking with me, and

the hamburgers, and fixing my tire and everything."

"How will you go to see your grandfather?" Davy asked, looking concerned. "If it's far,

I don't think your bicycle tire will hold up."

"Oh, my mom will drive me," I said, waving my hand airily.

"I thought you were going to catch a bus," Micky said.

"That's right," Davy said, with a nod of his head. "I forgot about that."

They were both looking at me now, with puzzled expressions.

"Oh, one or the other," I said. "Well, goodbye."

"Goodbye," Davy said.

"See you," Micky said.

I pushed my bicycle on to the front of the white house, and paused, looking behind me.

They'd walked on. I sighed, and then started walking again, heading towards my real

house. I felt really bummed out suddenly. And I wondered why.

DMPM


	3. Visiting Gramps

I caught a six o'clock bus to the rehabilitation home. It was really crowded at that time of day, and I had to share a seat with

a guy who just sat and stared into space, smiling. What a trip he must be on, I thought.

I walked into the lobby, and found Gramps playing cards with another man.

"Hello there, Blossom," he greeted me, looking happy to see me.

"Hi, Gramps," I said, leaning down to give him a hug around his neck.

"This is my granddaughter," Gramps said, to the other man, sounding proud.

I knew he'd introduced me to the man a couple of times before, but if he remembered meeting me, he didn't act like it.

He nodded, and shook my hand enthusiastically. "Bart talks about you all the time," he told me.

"Well, I'd like to know why I shouldn't, when I've got the smartest granddaughter in all the world," Gramps said.

"Gramps, stop," I said.

"Let's get outside," Gramps told me, and I pushed his wheelchair outside.

"There's still some sun," he said, raising his face to the sky.

"I'm sorry I'm so late getting here," I told him.

"That's alright. Sit down, Blossom." He pointed to a bench in front of him, and I sat down, facing him.

"You've been busy? That's why you're late?" he asked.

"Yes. It's been a busy day."

"Mrs. Harper drop you off?" he asked, and looked around, as if expecting to see our previous neighbor lady. I had to choose my words

carefully whenever this subject came up. When Gramps fell and broke his hip, and had to go to the hospital, and then the rehab center,

he asked our neighbor, Mrs. Harper, to let me stay with her in the house next door to ours. That way I'd be close enough to our house to

keep an eye on it, yet I'd have an adult watching out for me.

And that how things went. At least for a while. A short while. About two weeks after Gramps was transferred to the rehab center,

Mrs. Harper decided to leave town with her newest "gentleman friend" as she called him. So she packed up, told me that I'd have to find

another living arrangement, and said sayonara, although she kept the money for the entire month that Gramps had given her for taking

care of me.

I knew if I told Gramps, he would only worry, and be distraught, and I didn't want anything to keep him from healing. There was nothing he

could do, anyway, and since we had no other family but one another, it was likely that I would have ended up in some type of foster care.

I had no intention of doing that. I was going to be right there waiting at our little house, when Gramps was better and released from the

rehab, so I could take care of him.

So for a long two months now, I'd bumbled along on my own, more or less. I finished the school year, because I knew if I suddenly

didn't go, that would cause some questions. I'd learned the bus routes to the rehabilitation center, going to visit Gramps every day or

at the most, every other day. He always thought that Mrs. Harper was waiting in her car in the parking lot, or shopping while I was

visiting with him.

When he wanted to talk to her, I always had an excuse ready. She was busy, she was working a lot, things like that. For the first few

weeks, I'd taken the money he pressed into my hand, telling me to give it to Mrs. Harper for my keep. I used the money to buy food, pay

the water bill, wash my clothes at the laundromat, all of that stuff. The first month I'd given our landlord the rent, but this month I hadn't been

able to, thus the reason I was always slinking around, trying to avoid him.

For the last couple of weeks, Gramps hadn't been able to give me as much money from his social security check. He didn't say a whole lot,

but I think it was because the people at the rehab center were asking him for more money. I'd told Gramps that was fine, that we were paid

up on bills, and that I'd been earning a little extra money myself.

When he asked me what I was doing, I told him babysitting around the neighborhood. I mean, that's the only thing that I really

could tell him. Babysitting is an acceptable form of earning income for a thirteen year old girl. If Gramps had known the truth, that his

precious, innocent, only granddaughter was nothing but a common thief, well, he would have hoisted himself out of his wheelchair, and

laid down in front of the bus to keep me from going back to our house. So, on this particular day, when he held out a twenty dollar

bill to me, I took it, telling him that it was plenty.

And, I told him stories of the imaginary kids I babysat for. Anything to keep him from guessing the truth.

DMMP


	4. Gathering thoughts

By the time I caught a bus, and got off at the bus stop a few blocks from my neighborhood, it was starting to get

dark. I was walking along, lost in my own thoughts, and not really paying attention. Therefore, I was shocked when

Mrs. Shields , the landlord, stood up from where she was sitting, waiting, on a bench on the porch of Gramps and I's little

house.

I'm fairly tall for my age, but she is an extremely tall woman, so when she stood to her full height, she was heads above

me.

"I knew if I waited long enough, you'd be here," she said, and I felt a shiver of fear run down my spine. She'd be

wanting the rent.

"Hello, Mrs. Shields ," I said.

"Hello, Mrs. Shields," she mocked. "I want my rent."

All I had was the fifteen dollars from my share of what Sasha and I had stolen that morning, and the twenty

that Gramps had just given me. I needed that for other stuff. Like food to last the month.

"Gramps and I are a little short of cash this week," I said, and Mrs. Shields interrupted me, saying,

"This week?! That's the same old song I've been hearing for weeks now! And besides that, you can drop

that part about your grandfather. I know he's not here."

She looked so smug and knowing that I felt my stomach drop to my feet.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, playing for time.

"Exactly what I said. He's not here. Where is he?"

I thought quickly. Maybe if I told her a half-truth, it would throw her off the track.

"Gramps had to go to the hospital for a couple of days," I said.

"Oh, really?" she scoffed, in a non-believing tone.

"Yeah. He wasn't feeling very well. But he's all well now, and he'll be home soon."

She shook her head. "That's another lie, right there. But I don't really care where he is, as long

as I get my rent."

I hesitated, thinking fast. It was obvious she was not going to leave empty-handed.

"Will you take twenty dollars now? And I'll pay you the rest of it on Friday?" I asked her, reaching into my pocket and holding out the twenty dollar bill

to her.

It was a bunch of nonsense. I had no money coming my way on Friday. But it was all I could think

of to buy some time.

She stared at me, her face hard. "I suppose," she said grudgingly. "But come Friday, you have the rest, or I'll be telling

you and that grandfather of yours to get out."

When she'd gone, I took the key from the chain around my neck, and unlocked the front door. The house was dark and depressing.

I took a shower and went to bed, and when I woke up in the night to get a drink of water, I discovered that the electricity had been turned off.

It wasn't that I was surprised, really. I'd known it was only a matter of time before they turned it off for nonpayment.

I went back to lay on the couch, but I didn't go to sleep again. I laid there and worried, wide awake the rest of the night.

The next morning, I went to the nearest pawn shop, and tried to pawn the pocket watch. The guy there wasn't interested, though. He

said he already had too many watches.

When I came back out onto the street, I stood there thinking for a few minutes. I could go to another pawn shop, but I wasn't sure

where it was at. Gramps and I had only been in this area for about three months when he had to go into the hospital, and during that time,

and after as well, I'd only had time to do the things that I had to do. School, taking care of Gramps, and hustling with Sasha. There'd been

no time for sightseeing, or learning different areas of the city.

I was so discouraged. And I was tired. And hungry. With only a small amount of money left, and too many uses for it, I was afraid to use it to

get something to eat.

But I knew I had to, So I went to the corner grocery and got a small snack of crackers and a soda. Not the best choice, nutrition wise, but cheap.

I wandered over to the beach again, and found a big rock to sit on. I scrambled up on it, and sat there, drinking and eating. While I was there, I

heard someone calling out, "Hello!"

It was Guy 3. Peter. He was coming out of the water, carrying a surfboard under one arm, and pushing his wet hair back with his other hand.

I was honestly glad to see him again. He hadn't made me feel uncomfortable the previous day. He just seemed like such a nice guy.

"Hi," I said, my welcome genuine.

Peter stuck the end of his surfboard into the sand. "Mind if I sit with you?" he asked me.

"That's fine," I said, and moved over a little.

Peter hoisted himself up onto the rock beside me. He pushed back his hair again.

"I'll bet the water was real cold this morning, huh?" I asked.

"It was," he agreed. "That's the way I like it, though."

"You're pretty far from your house," I said, and then felt embarrassed that he would think I was being too curious, or intrusive.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "It's none of my business-"

Peter held up a hand to forestall my torrent of words. "It's okay. No sweat."

"I didn't want you to think I was being rude-" I began again.

"I didn't think that." He gave me an easy smile. "And I come down this way a lot. Sometimes I feel like going off by myself. I like being with the guys, but

sometimes I need to be alone, to gather my thoughts. You know?"

I liked the way he talked to me. Not like I was a kid. As if I was grown up. As if I would understand what he was talking about.

"Yes. I understand."

"I figured that. You seem as though you would understand," he said.

I looked at him, curiously, wondering what he meant, but I knew I was too shy to ask.

We sat there for awhile. I wasn't certain how long, exactly, but long enough to watch the waves rolling and crashing, and feel the sun warming our skin.

We talked about lots of things. Nothing too soul-shattering. Our shared love of animals. The fact that we both liked to read historical novels.

When Peter finally said that he needed to be going, that he had to get back so he could rehearse some music, I was actually sorry to see him go.

"Come with," he told me. "You can hang out for awhile."

I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to! But there was still that fear in me. Holding me back. The knowledge that I must not, should not, get too close to anyone. Where all

my secrets could be found out.

But when he held out a hand to me, to help me down from the big boulder we'd been sitting on, I found myself taking his hand. And heard myself saying,

"Okay. I'll come."

MMPD


	5. Lunch with the guys

When Peter and I had hiked thru the sand, all the way back towards their pad, and were going up the long staircase at the back of

the house, I could hear music being played, and the sound of intermittent laughter.

"They started without me," Peter said, and opened the sliding glass door.

"Hey, Pete, you're late," Guy 4 greeted him. What was his name? Mike. That was it.

"The waves were boss today," Peter said.

Davy turned to see me standing there behind Peter, as he stood his surfboard against the wall.

"Hullo, luv!" he said, with a welcoming smile at me.

"Hi," I said, and gave Micky a wave from where he was sitting behind a set of drums. He raised one of his drum sticks at me as

a hello.

"Sit down anywhere," Peter told me. "I gotta go change."

I went over to the couch, and surveyed all the stuff covering it, wondering how anyone could find room to sit.

"Just throw that stuff to the side," said a voice behind me, and I turned to look up at 4. I'm pretty tall, like I said, but

I realized that I had to look up, up, up at him. He was a tall guy.

"Okay," I said. But I really just gave some of the clothes and papers a push, and sat in the tiny space available.

When Peter came back from a room off of the kitchen, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

They all started playing the guitars, and the drums, and they all switched around on instruments, except for Mike, who kept to

the same guitar.

When they started to sing, I was amazed. Enthralled, actually, would be a better word. They were good! Really good.

When they'd finished that particular song, I said, "That's fantastic!" with enthusiasm, and then when they all turned towards

me, I realized that I'd spoken without thinking first. Before I could get embarrassed, though, Davy said,

"Thanks!"

This was followed by Peter and Micky saying 'thanks alot', too. Mike was quiet, still strumming softly on the guitar chords.

"Want some iced tea?" Davy asked me, going into the kitchen.

"Yes, sure," I said. "Thanks."

He went to pour himself a glass of tea, and me one, and then handed it off to me, and they all started talking about

a bar of the song being 'off' or something like that. I had no idea what they were talking about. I sipped at my tea, and looked around.

The sink was full of dirty dishes. Micky came over and flopped down beside me on the couch. He'd evidently caught my

look into the kitchen, because he said, with a grin, "We're slobs."

"Speak for yourself," Mike said, leaning his guitar against the drums, and going into the kitchen.

"What's for lunch?" Peter asked, following him, and sticking his head inside the refrigerator.

"What is there?" Mike asked.

"Cereal?" Peter asked.

"I don't want cereal for lunch," Micky offered in complaint, from his spot beside me.

"Hamburgers sound good," Peter said.

"Great idea. Except we don't have any hamburger," Mike said.

When Micky got up to go into the kitchen, too, I followed him, standing back a little, while they argued about what to eat.

"Do you have any tuna?" I heard myself asking them. "And noodles?"

I was immediately swamped with three pairs of eyes. Each with varying degrees of interest.

"Do we?" Peter asked, and started looking thru the cabinets.

"Yeah. Tuna!" he said, holding up a couple of cans. "And noodles, too."

When they all looked at me expectantly again, I said, "I can make tuna casserole. It's pretty good with cheese sauce."

"I don't think we have any cheese sauce," Micky said, looking regretful.

"I can make my own, if you have some milk," I said.

"We've got milk," Peter affirmed.

"You don't have to make lunch for us," Mike said.

"I don't mind," I said.

"You heard her, Mike," Micky said, steering me over to the counter, and opening the cans of tuna for me. "She doesn't mind!"

I made the tuna casserole, covered with cheese sauce, and with a double batch of noodles. They looked like guys who could eat a lot. I found a couple of cans of fruit

pushed far back in the cabinet, and opened them, mixing the peaches with the cherries. I cut up a over ripened banana and tossed that in, too.

I looked thru the cabinets and found plates and set the table. As I was laying out silverware, I said, "Lunch is ready," and they all came to the table, sitting down.

"This looks fantastic," Peter said.

"Where's your plate, luv?" Davy asked me.

"Oh, I just fixed it for you guys," I began, shyly. I didn't want them to think I'd come to eat off of them again.

Without a word, Mike stood up, and went to brush papers and magazines off a chair against the wall, bringing it to the table and sitting it between Micky and Davy. Then he got another plate from the cabinet, and set it down on the table.

He sat back down in his place, and took the bowl of tuna casserole that Peter was passing to him. He looked up at me, still standing there, and said,

"Don't be a goof. You fixed it for us. Now sit down and eat with us."

I met his eyes. There was something in the tone of his voice. Sort of commanding. But not in a mean way.

Besides, I was hungry. So I sat down and ate with them.

MDMP


	6. No excuses

The guys all raved about the lunch I'd made, as if it were cuisine at a five star restaurant. Well, to be honest, Mike said,

"That was great. Thanks," and that was all he said.

But Micky and Peter, and Davy, too, kept on complimenting me until I was embarrassed. But it felt good, too, because I could

tell that they really meant it.

I started gathering up the dishes, and clearing off the table.

"Just stack the dishes over by the sink, luv," Davy told me.

"Oh, I'll do them up," I said.

"You don't need to do that," Peter said, and they all looked guilty.

"I don't mind," I told them, but they all argued with me, insisting that I go down to the beach with them instead.

"We'll go for a swim," Peter said.

I seized upon the most logical excuse. "I don't have a swimsuit."

"Oh, that's right," Peter said, looking downcast.

"It's fine. Really," I said. "I'll just watch you guys."

"That's no fun," Micky pronounced, and he looked thoughtful, and then snapped his fingers. "I've got it," he said,

and disappeared out the door.

I wondered where he was going, but none of the others seemed to think it was weird that he ran out that way.

Davy went to change, and I found a spot to sit down on the couch to wait. In just a matter of minutes, Micky was back, pulling a girl

by the hand.

"This is Belinda," he told me, and the blonde girl smiled at me.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"I live next door," she said, in explanation. "Micky says you need to borrow a suit."

"Oh. No-" I began to protest.

The other girl eyed me. "Stand up," she told me.

"I really don't-" I tried again.

Micky pulled me to my feet, without any say so on my part.

"Yeah, you look about my size. Come on over and pick one out," she told me.

"No, thanks," I said, starting to panic. "I don't want to put you out-"

"Don't be silly. I've got a ton. Come on."

So I went along with her to the apartment next door, where she led me to a small bedroom, and started pulling swimsuit after swimsuit out of a dresser drawer.

"Here," she said, tossing them onto a twin bed. "Take your pick. They should all fit you fine, other than they might be a little big on top for you, but they'll work."

I thought suddenly that it was just too much work to explain, or resist. I decided I could go to the beach, and then fake a leg cramp or something at the last minute, so I didn't have to

go into the water.

So I chose a a blue suit, and then pulled my t-shirt back on over it. When I went out into the living room, carrying my jeans and sneakers, Belinda looked up from

the fashion magazine she was reading.

"Fit okay?" she asked me.

"Yes. It's great. Thank you."

"No problem. You look good," she told me.

"You have a lot of swimsuits," I said, and then thought maybe she would think I was rude.

"Yeah. I've collected a bunch what with all my auditions."

"Are you a model?" I asked, impressed, and Belinda nodded.

"Yeah. Well, I'm trying to be, anyway. Come on, let's get you back to the fellas."

As we started to walk back over, she said, "The guys are the best, aren't they?"

"They're really nice," I said in cautious agreement. I was curious whether she was a girlfriend of Micky's, but I didn't ask, of course. One thing I did ask, though, was, "Is Mike always so

serious?"

Belinda laughed. "He is a bit serious, isn't he? But, no he can be just as much of a goof as the other guys. Just not all the time."

"I understand serious, though," I said, without thinking. "Serious is good."

Belinda gave me a curious look, but we were at the open door of the guy's place, so she just stuck her head in and hollered.

"Here she is, guys!"

"Hey, you come too!" Davy called to her.

"I'll come down later, maybe. I've got an audition." To me she said, "You can keep the suit if you want. Bye!" And she was gone.

"Ready?" Davy asked, with a wide smile.

"I guess," I said, reluctantly.

"Let's take our boards," Peter said, and Micky agreed, and they both had their surfboards under their arms, all ready to head out the sliding door, down the

stairs, to the beach, and then to the water. To all that deep, deep water. I shivered in fear.

"Come on," Peter said, motioning to me.

I followed them reluctantly down the stairs, dragging behind.

At the beach they began shedding their shirts, and I sat down in the sand, beginning to rub my leg.

My plan to set in motion my supposed 'leg cramp' didn't garner any attention from any of them.

Davy held a hand out to me. "Let's give it a go," he said.

I looked at his hand, and then shook my head. "I can't," I said, in a low voice. "I don't know how."

"That's okay, luv. You can catch on to surfing right quick."

"Not surfing. I don't know how to swim," I admitted, and their faces registered their surprise. Shocked is the word, actually.

"You're having us on," Davy said, and I looked at him, confused.

"He means you're kidding us," Micky said.

"No," I said, feeling embarrassed. "I'm not kidding."

For a moment they were all quiet, and I squinted my eyes against the sun, looking up at all four of their faces.

"Well, that's no crime," Peter said.

"And easily solved," Micky said.

"Huh?" I asked, not understanding what he meant.

"We'll teach you," Davy said.

"No!" I said in panic. "I don't want to-"

"We won't go in any further than you want to go," Peter said.

"It's okay, guys. Really. I just want to sit here in the sun."

I saw them all exchange a look between them. And then Peter said, "I'll sit here with you, then." And he stuck his surfboard in the

sand, and sat down beside me.

Before I could protest, Davy said, "Me, too," and flopped down on my other side.

"I need some sun," Micky said, and sat down in front of me, rolling over on his back, and folding his arms under his head.

Mike didn't say anything. He just shook his head a little, and sat down, too, picking up sand and letting it slide thru his fingers.

I looked at all of them, trying to figure them out.

"You guys came to surf, though," I protested.

"We can surf anytime. We'll just sit here with you," Micky said, and then he gave me a grin.

"This is crazy," I muttered.

"Daisy? No, there's no daisies down here," Davy said, and then he grinned at me, too.

"Okay," I said, giving in. "I don't want to go in over my head, though, alright?"

They all smiled then, in triumph. Even Mike.

MPMD


	7. Fears

The guys all took a turn working with me on getting the hang of the swimming strokes, but Peter spent

the most time with me. He never showed any impatience at my fear of the water. After a couple of hours of

diligent practicing, he told me to take a break, and walked with me back thru the waves to the sandy beach.

"You did good," he told me. "Take a break and get your energy back."

I sank down to sit in the sand, pushing my hair back. "I know it's silly to be so scared of the water," I said.

"A person's fears are their own. Nothing silly about it," he said, sitting down beside me.

"I've always been afraid of water," I admitted.

"You don't have to surf, or be an Olympic champion swimmer. But if we can help you to not fear the

water, then I'll be satisfied."

I smiled at him, a little shyly. "There was a while today when you made me forget to be afraid."

A grin lit up Peter's entire face. "That's groovy," he said. "I'm glad about that, Sasha."

It was the first time all day that any of them had addressed me as Sasha. And I felt embarrassed, and

really, really bad about lying to them about my real name.

I guess it showed in my facial expression, because Peter tilted his head and looked at me with

concern. "What's wrong?" he asked me.

I shook my head at him. "Nothing," I said.

After a few minutes he went back into the water, taking his surfboard with him. I sat cross-legged

in the sand, watching them swim and surf, and thinking.

When they all came out of the water, talking, and shoving each other playfully, they

started talking about needing to rehearse.

"Looks like you got a bit of sun," Davy said, pointing to the pinkish tinge on my shoulders.

I gave a glance at my shoulder. "Yeah."

They all hiked back thru the sand to the pad, and I followed, wondering if I should go home. To what, though?

The electricity had been turned off. There was very little food in the house. I wanted to save my bus fare, so

I didn't plan on going to see Gramps that day. But it wasn't right to keep hanging around the guys like

I was. My problems were not their problems. They were nice guys, and I didn't want them to know what

a fix that I was in. Or that I specialized in being a thief.

I was startled out of my thoughts by Micky snapping his fingers in front of my face.

"Earth to Sasha," he said, with a grin.

Another Sasha reference. I looked at Micky, embarrassed.

"You're in some deep thought," he said.

I shrugged. "I guess so," I said.

Once up the stairs, and inside the pad, the guys went around turning on fans, still talking to each other.

I was still just standing there, by the sliding glass door, hesitant, when Mike took hold of my arm, and pulled me inside

so that he could shut the door.

Davy was calling from the kitchen, asking if anybody wanted lemonade. Peter and Micky both said that yes, they wanted some.

"How about you, luv?" Davy asked me, standing there, with a silver pitcher in his hand.

"I should probably get home," I said.

"Your mum will be worrying, huh?" Davy asked.

"No," I said honestly. "I don't have a mom."

They all stopped in their respective activities, of picking up papers, and switching on fans, to turn and look

at me. Their faces were serious. Sad.

"Oh," Davy said.

"That's rough," Micky said.

I felt awkward then, shy, and embarrassed. "Yeah." I decided to balance out my lie with a truth. "I live with my Gramps. My grandfather."

Well, considering that Gramps wasn't there, I guess that was a partial truth.

Micky and Davy nodded, as if that was perfectly acceptable. Then, wrinkling his brow in thought, Micky said, "When Davy and I walked you

home the other night, I thought you said something about your mom driving you to see your grandpa."

Oh! "I did say that," I admitted. "I just didn't want you to think I didn't have a way to go see my Gramps."

"Oh," Micky said, still looking puzzled.

"But your grandfather is ill? He's in hospital?" Davy asked, coming back over closer to me, still carrying the empty pitcher.

I tried to think back to what I'd told them. I didn't remember telling them specifically that Gramps was in the hospital. But maybe I had.

As I was sorting back in my mind, trying to remember so that I wouldn't sound like liar, I felt Mike's eyes on me, and turned to see him

watching me, his gaze steady and serious.

It looked like he was thinking of saying something. I hoped he wouldn't, even though I wasn't sure just what he was thinking.

"Umm, yeah. He is, but he's getting better," I said vaguely.

"So you're all on your own then?" Peter asked, coming to stand right beside me, his hand on my elbow.

"Well, no, not exactly," I said quickly. The guys seemed trustworthy, not as if they would report me to social services or anything, but still-

"Gramps paid a neighbor to look after me," I added, not disclosing that that arrangement had been over almost before it had begun. Another

half-truth.

"Aw. Well, that's alright then," Davy said, but they all just kept watching me.

"You could call her up, and ask permission to stay around for awhile," Peter suggested.

I blinked at him, my brain feeling foggy from sun and lies. "Who?" I asked stupidly.

"Your neighbor," Mike said, speaking up for the first time. "The one that's responsible for watching you."

I turned to my left to look at Mike. Again, I got the feeling that he wanted to say something more. That he knew. Knew what, I wasn't sure.

But something. He KNEW something.

"Oh," I said, feeling my face turn red. "Yes."

"You can use the phone," Mike said, and gestured towards the kitchen.

"No. I'll just head out," I said, feeling as if any moment they were all going to discover what a fraud I was.

"You sure?" Peter asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Well, come back tomorrow. We'll practice your swimming again," Peter said, giving my elbow a squeeze.

"Yes, okay," I said, and gathered up my clothes from before we had gone swimming. "I'll change first. Is that okay?"

"Sure," Peter said, and Davy nodded.

I went to the bathroom, and changed from my swimsuit to my tattered jeans and t-shirt.

I came out, carrying the wet suit, to find the guys crowded around the drums, talking in low tones, in a huddled group.

"Well," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "I'll see you all later then."

Four pairs of eyes turned to face me. "We'll walk you home," Peter said.

"No!" I practically shouted, and they all stared at me, looking shocked.

"I mean, you don't need to," I scrambled for words to make up for my too-loud response. "You guys said you want to practice. I'll be

fine."

They looked reluctant, especially Peter, but they all nodded.

"We'll see you tomorrow then?" Davy asked.

I said yes, and made my escape, going down the stairs and up the beach quickly. I stopped once to look back, and saw two of them standing on

the deck above the stairs.

7


	8. A name is a name

That night, alone in the house, with no electricity, and not much food, I was feeling desperation set in. I was hungry, and lonely, and worried.

The lunch that I'd made for the guys was long gone, and my stomach rumbled incessantly. I used the last of the peanut butter, and a slice of the last

loaf of bread to make myself a sandwich.

I curled up on the couch in the dark, covering myself with a blanket and trying to think my way out of the mess I was in.

I had the fifteen dollars left from my share of Sasha and I's last beach job. I would, I thought, use some of that for food. And some for bus

fare to go see Gramps.

The next morning, I got up early, hungry again. I got a plain piece of bread, mostly because there was nothing to put on it. No jelly. No

peanut butter. I nibbled on my bread as I came out of the house, locking the door behind me. As I was slipping the key back around my neck on

the chain, I was startled to see Sasha coming up the street. She'd never come to the house before. I had no idea where she lived at all. I

hadn't known that she knew where I lived at.

"I've got a job for us," she said, without so much as a hello or anything else.

"What?" I asked, pausing there on the sidewalk beside her. I instantly felt worse just by seeing her. Seeing her reminded me of what

low level that I'd sunk to.

Sasha began telling me in detail about how she knew of a house along the beach where the people were gone out of town. It was supposedly being

house-sat by a friend of Sasha's, who had told her quite openly where the key was kept, and details of what was in the house. We could use the key, go

inside, and take whatever we wanted, and then pawn it.

I had a sick feeling inside. This was somehow worse than what we'd been doing. I mean, I know it's all stealing in the eyes of the law and all, but to

steal from someone's house-wow.

My face obviously showed my horror at her plan. She snapped in impatience at me. "What? What's your problem?"

"Going into someone's house that way-it's not right-"

She rolled her eyes as though she thought me the dumbest person alive. "It's no different than lifting their wallet," she insisted.

I knew she had a point, but still, it just didn't feel right to me. It felt worse somehow. As though it was crossing the line to becoming a more "hardcore" sort of thief.

"I just don't like the idea," I said, and Sasha glared at me.

"Well, that's too bad," she said. "I need you to help me. You can be the lookout, and then you can help me carry the stuff. I'll have somebody there with a car, waiting."

This, too, was something new. Someone in a car? Like a get-away car?

"I don't want to," I said, gathering my courage around me.

"Look, you dumb little shit," she said, in a fury, "I don't care if you don't want to, or if you don't like the idea! I need you, and you're gonna

help!"

I was forming the words to ask her what she was going to do about it if I refused, when she said, "If you don't, then maybe I'll make an anonymous call

to children's services. I'm sure they'd like to know that a 13 year old girl is living here on her own."

I sucked in my breath at her threat. "Why would you do that?" I asked, not wanting to believe she was that evil.

Sasha shrugged. "Like I said, I need you for this. If you want out after this, then fine. I'll get somebody else. But not until after today."

I felt hopelessness washing over me. "Today?" I asked. "You mean you're gonna do it today?"

"Well, yeah. Did you think I walked all this way over here just to see your face?"

I looked at her, and thought she was the very portrait of evil.

"Alright," I said grimly. "Lets do it, then."

So we walked all the way to the beach, and I was a little disconcerted to see that we were only a short way from the guy's house. The house that Sasha

was talking about was a lot larger, and fancier, too, than theirs. We watched for a while, because Sasha said that her friend was still there, that it was her

car out front, and we'd have to wait for her to leave. So we sat. And we waited.

"Does your friend know you're doing this?" I asked her.

"Of course not. Do I look like an idiot?"

"Well, but, if she's your friend," I hesitated, and then gave up. Friendship didn't mean anything to Sasha.

Time ticked by, slowly, and the guy who was going to be driving the car showed up. He was a scruffy looking kind of guy, dirty, and

definitely high. He reeked of pot. I disliked him on sight.

"Let's get this going," he told Sasha.

"We have to wait," Sasha told him. "The girl who's house-sitting is still there."

So now there was three of us, waiting. The guy had no worries at all. He lit up a joint right there, offering Sasha and I both

a toke. Sasha did, but I shook my head.

"Too good to join in with us, huh?" he accused me.

I shrugged, not answering him.

I couldn't believe my bad luck. I looked up the beach and saw some people coming thru the sand. Two of them I recognized. Guy 1 and Guy 3.

Instantly I panicked. "Oh, my gosh!" I muttered under my breath.

"Get rid of that," Sasha told the guy, but he obviously didn't care, because he took another drag of his joint.

There was no where to hide, even if there had been time. So I stood there, as the girls walked on by, and Peter and Davy

headed right over to where we were standing.

"Hullo!" Davy greeted me, with a friendly smile.

"Hello," I managed.

I didn't miss the way Davy and Peter took in the other guy's appearance, and the joint in his hand.

"What's on today?" Davy asked me, then.

I shrugged. "Not much," I said. I didn't know what to say.

Sasha, obviously taken by Davy's good looks, smiled at him, and at Peter, too.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Sasha."

Davy and Peter looked at her, then at me, their eyes full of questions, and I knew just what they were thinking. Sasha is not a common

name. What were the chances that I was named Sasha, too, as I'd told them I was?

But, amid my embarrassment, I had to give them both credit. Davy didn't miss a beat. He nodded at Sasha, and said, "Hullo."

Peter, too, said hello, and though he looked at me, his expression confused, neither one of them asked outright about the unusual repeat of the name

Sasha.

"Are you coming to swim?" Peter asked me.

"Um, no, not right now," I muttered, avoiding his eye.

"I thought we had plans," he said, then, quietly, and I wished that I could just sink into the ground.

"Yes. I'll try to make it later," I said.

"Do you guys live round here?" Sasha asked the guys.

"Yeah. Up the beach a ways," Davy said, not saying specifically where at.

"So," Sasha jumped into the conversation, "you didn't tell me you had such cute friends, Beth."

She said it lightly, flirty, but I knew the hidden meaning under the words. She didn't like it that I knew someone that was so close

to where we were going to be stealing.

I risked a look at both Davy and Peter. Their faces were puzzled, full of questions that they didn't ask.

"I guess we'll get on then," Davy said slowly, looking at me intently.

"Okay," I said, hoping they would just go. "See you, guys."

"You're alright?" Davy asked me then, his voice a little lower.

"Yeah. Fine," I said, trying to sound breezy and carefree.

Davy didn't look convinced, and his next words were crushing. "Okay. Beth."

The way he said Beth! Like he was trying to figure it all out. Puzzling over why I would lie about my name!

I felt my face flame, and it wasn't from the summer sun.

"You'll be over later?" Peter asked me, then quietly.

"Um, yeah, sure," I said. Anything to get them to move on down the beach. I couldn't imagine what they were thinking!

Still Peter paused. "Promise?" he asked.

"Yes. Okay," I told him.

"Alright. Goodbye," Peter said.

"Bye," I said, and Sasha echoed, "Goodbye. Glad to meet you guys!"

They both smiled at her, and nodded, and then headed on down the beach.

I stood there, watching them go, until Sasha snapped her fingers in front of my face.

"I didn't know you knew anybody up this way," she snapped at me.

"Why would I tell you?" I asked her, dully, not caring if she got angry.

"Maybe because I don't want to go to jail," she snarled. "And your nosy friends might run their mouths about us being around here!"

I looked at her, wishing I'd never laid eyes on her stupid face.

"They were just being nice," I told her. "They're not thinking anything."

"You'd better be right about that!" she said, making it sound like a threat.

I turned to watch Davy and Peter walk down the beach, getting further and further into the distance. And, I thought how when they

said goodbye and smiled, the smiles hadn't reached their eyes.

DMPM


	9. New introduction

The three of us waited, and then hid behind one of the cabanas on the beach, as the 'housesitter' friend of Sasha's came out of the house, got into her car, and drove away. She had no clue that we were waiting there, sort of like ants at a picnic, ready to pounce. Sasha said we should go around to the back door, and she snapped at me to hurry up when I lagged behind. She was saying that we'd only take small items, like jewelry, so that it wouldn't be missed as quickly.

At the back door, she produced a key from under a flower pot, where she'd obviously known it would be. Her so-called housesitter friend must have a big mouth.

She unlocked the door, and turned to give the guy, (his name, I'd discovered, was Marvin), a satisfied smirk. I couldn't believe her! She was as cool as a cucumber, while I was shaking so much that I had to squeeze my hands together to keep them from trembling.

Sasha immediately led the way to the spacious living room, and then motioned us to follow her up the stairs. I was still standing at the door where we'd come in.

"Come on!" she hissed at me.

She glared at me, and I could read quite plainly in her eyes the threat she'd made about calling social services about me.

So I went, feeling as though I was dragging my feet.

In one of the bedrooms, Sasha went to the dresser, and opened a wood jewelry box, taking out necklaces, and bracelets. She handed them to Marvin, who was carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder. He put the jewelry into the bag, and then he started walking around, too, opening drawers and looking inside.

"Look in the closet," Sasha ordered me.

I stared at the closet, and then watched them, picking things up, filling their pockets and the bag. And then, scared as I was, I turned

and ran back downstairs. All I could see was Gramp's face in my head.

I ran out of the house, and waited out front, moving a little further up the beach. I wanted to run on, all the way home. Well, actually, I wanted to run

to the guy's pad. I don't know what made me feel that way. I just did.

I didn't run, though. I stood there like an idiot, until a few minutes later Sasha and Marvin came around from the back door. Sasha looked furious.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped.

I looked at her, not answering.

"You're useless," she informed me. "And don't think you're going to get any money from this stuff. You didn't help, so you don't get anything

out of it."

"I don't want anything from it," I said quietly, and she glared at me so hard that I should have had a hole burned thru me.

"You're a loser," she said. "So get lost. But keep your mouth shut. If somebody were to find out about who took this stuff, I'll know it was you. And

I'll make that call to social services. And then," she threatened, "you can find out how horrible foster care is!"

"I'm not gonna say anything," I said, feeling sick as I said it. I mean, what could I say? She had me backed into a corner, so to speak.

"It's too bad," she said then, but I knew she didn't feel badly at all. She was gloating. "Some of this stuff would have helped you out a lot. Maybe kept

you in that miserable little house paying bills until your grandfather got home. Oh well..."

She gave me a final, distainful look. "See you around, kid." Then she laughed. "Well, actually, I probably won't."

She and Marvin walked on down the beach towards his car, as calm and unhurried as if they hadn't just robbed a house.

I stood there for a few moments, and then I started walking. I think it was probably no accident that I walked in the direction of the

pad. Down the beach from it, I stood looking up. Then I sat down in the sand at the edge of the water, picking up sand and letting it trickle thru

my fingers.

I began to cry. I was so tired. Tired of worrying, and having to carry adult responsibilities. Tired of being hungry. Tired of worrying about whether

Gramps would ever be able to come home again. I was only thirteen, after all. And I knew I'd done wrong, getting involved with Sasha and her

ideas about stealing.

I don't know how long I sat there like that. But a shadow appeared in the sand beside me. I raised my face, tear-stained, to look up

into Davy's eyes.

He didn't say anything at first. He didn't look angry, or judgmental. But he wasn't smiling, either.

Then he said, just like he had the first time we'd met, "I'm Davy."

I stared up at him, until it dawned on me what he was doing. He was "reinventing" our first meeting.

Giving me a chance to be honest.

My eyes were so full of tears, I could hardly see. "I'm Beth," I said, so softly that I didn't know if he could hear me.

Then he put out his hand to help me to my feet.

"Hullo, Beth. You look like you need a friend."

I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. And then we walked thru the sand towards the pad together.

MDMP

7


	10. A talk approaching

Davy didn't say anything as we made our way up the beach together. He'd let go of my hand as we started walking, and I walked beside him,

feeling awkward, and embarrassed. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, exactly. He probably thought I was a real kook. Maybe he'd only been being kind

before.

As we were almost to the bottom of the stairs, I found my voice.

"I should go on home," I said, giving him the opportunity to tell me to go, if that's what he really wanted.

Davy didn't stop walking. He didn't even slow down. He gave me a look.

"Don't be daft," he said.

I wondered just what he meant by that. What was daft?

"I don't want to be a bother," I said then.

That did make him pause, there on the bottom step.

"Friends aren't a bother," he told me.

He gave me a long look, almost a sad look. If not sad, then very serious.

"Are we friends?" he asked then. "Cause I kind of thought that we were."

I felt even more embarrassed. I bit at my lip.

"Well?" Davy asked, obviously waiting for an answer.

"I'd like to be your friend," I said, quietly.

"Alright, then," Davy said, as if that answered everything. He gave me another soulful look. "We'll talk later, alright?"

I wasn't so sure I liked the sound of that. I mean, having to come clean and tell them everything? That was scary.

"Come on," he said, and turned to go up the stairs.

I followed, and when we stepped inside the sliding door, it was almost like coming home.

Peter appeared from the direction of the kitchen, smiling at me as if he hadn't just found out earlier that day that

I was a liar, who wouldn't even tell my real name.

"Hey," he greeted me.

"Hi," I said.

"You're just in time to help me," Peter said.

"Okay," I said, and followed him back towards the kitchen.

He told me he was attempting to make stew, and when he asked me to, I poked at the stuff in the big pot on the stove.

"It's been cooking for an hour," he said.

"The vegetables aren't done," I told him. "Maybe if you put some more water on it, and turned it up a little-"

Peter added more water to the pot, and I turned the knob on the stove to heighten the heat.

I heard Micky and Mike come in, arguing, though it seemed like a good-natured type of argument.

They both said hello to me, and after that, the four of them started messing around with the guitars, sitting on the couches. Micky got a pair of drumsticks

and started drumming on the arm of one of the chairs.

I watched them from the kitchen, sitting on a chair, until Micky looked up and saw me sitting there.

"Hey, come over here and listen," he invited.

I got to my feet, just as Mike said, "Yeah. We need a new set of ears to listen to this, Sasha."

Well, time stopped there. I stopped walking, and even though I didn't want to, I looked towards Peter and Davy. They obviously hadn't

shared their discovery of my lie about my name.

Into the sudden silence of the room, Micky looked puzzled, and Mike said, "What?"

Peter looked kind, and gave me a half-smile. Davy nodded at me a little, and I straightened to my full height, gathering my nerve.

"My name is Beth," I said, quietly. "I lied before. About it being Sasha, I mean."

"Oh," Micky said, still looking puzzled.

Mike was looking puzzled, too, but he didn't say anything.

"I said that because-well, I didn't know you guys," I said, stumbling over my words.

Mike nodded, but Micky didn't let it drop there.

"I dig it. At first, you didn't know us. But how about after that? When you'd hung around a few times? Why didn't you tell

us your real name then?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said, feeling my face turn warm. "It seemed weird. I wasn't sure how to go about it-"

My voice trailed off, and just as I thought things might get even more uncomfortable in the room, Mike said, "Beth. That's a real

pretty name."

He smiled at me, and it was like watching the sunrise. I'd never seen him smile like that before. And he was sending that smile my way!

I found myself smiling back.

Mike patted the spot beside him on the couch. "Come on," he told me, and I went to sit beside him.

DMPM


	11. Fear greater than pain

We ate Peter's somewhat undercooked stew for lunch. As I was sipping my lemonade, I noticed that the guys had gone a little quiet, and

that they were all watching me, each with varying degrees of scrutiny. Davy looked as serious as I could remember seeing him, Peter looked contemplative, Micky

looked puzzled, and Mike, well Mike looked, well, I couldn't really tell how he was looking exactly. I'd noticed earlier that Davy had cornered Micky outside the

sliding doors, talking to him and waving his hands around. I assumed that conversation had been about me, and how Davy and Peter had seen me, in such a suspicious

looking manner that morning on the beach.

"Let's sit down and yatter a bit," Davy said, standing up to push in his chair to the table.

Yatter? I looked at Peter and he said, "Talk," in explanation of Davy's choice of words.

Suddenly I was gripped by a panic that seemed to take over. I didn't want to explain anything!

The other guys got up, too, and went to sit on chairs and couches in the living room. Which left me sitting there at the little scratched up table, by myself.

I sat right where I was, making my lemonade drinking long and drawn out.

"Come over," Davy said, motioning me towards them.

Still I sat. It was almost as though I couldn't move. I took another drink of lemonade, as though quenching my thirst was the most important thing

in the world.

"Come on, luv," Davy said, and he sounded a little impatient now, I thought.

I bit my lip, looking at him.

I got up, and went reluctantly to an empty spot on the end of the couch, and perched there on the edge of the cushion, next to Peter.

"Don't look so frightened," Peter told me.

"Yeah, we only want to help," Davy added.

"Okay," I said, but then I was quiet. I wasn't sure where to start at, or what to leave unsaid.

"Go on then," Davy prompted.

"What do you want to know?" I asked.

I was stalling for time. And they knew it. I could tell by the way they all looked at me.

"What do you want to tell us?" Davy countered.

I was embarrassed at that. And then I thought that yeah, they did deserve to know some things about me. They'd been really kind to me.

"My name is Beth," I said slowly. "I live with my grandfather, like I told you. He fell and broke his hip a couple of months ago. He's in a rehabilitation

center."

Nobody said anything for a few moments, and then Micky said, "That's things we knew already."

"Where are your parents?" Mike asked.

"My mom died when I was three. And I don't know where my father is. He and my mom split up when I was a baby. That's what Gramps says."

"Ah," Mike said, and Micky nodded.

"That's rough stuff," Micky said.

"Yeah," I said, and then waited, still biting at my lip. And still hoping that they would be satisfied with what I'd said.

"And you have a neighbor looking out for you?" Davy asked, and I was reminded of my lie to them about that.

I shrugged. I didn't want to lie to them anymore. I really didn't. But old habits die hard. And I had to protect myself from being taken into foster care.

"I can look after myself," I said vaguely.

"Sure you can," Peter said, reaching over to pat my hand. "But it's good that you have someone around, just in case you need something."

When I didn't say anything, he patted my hand again. "Right?" he asked.

"Right."

"What's your neighbor's name?" Davy asked then, and I blinked at him.

"Huh?" I asked, startled.

"The neighbor. The one that's looking out for ya."

"Um, Mrs. Harper," I said, reluctantly.

"She's kind to you?" Davy asked me then.

I hesitated. Even before Mrs. Harper left town, she'd never been particularly kind to me. More indifferent. I was under no illusion that

she cared about anything but the money that Gramps had given her.

"She's not mean or anything," I said, effectively dancing around the question without telling another lie.

"What was on this morning?" Davy asked.

Again with his English slang.

At my confused look, he said, "The girl you were with? Sasha? She's a friend of yours?"

She wasn't. She never really had been. But the questions were beginning to feel dangerous to me. Too close to the truth coming out. So

I retreated. I lied.

"Yeah, she's my friend," I said.

"And the fellow?"

"Someone that Sasha knows," I said.

"You looked uncomfortable," Peter said.

"I did?"

"We were worried about ya," Davy said.

I looked at his face, and then Peter's, and I felt myself drawing up, like a turtle. Their faces were too open, too honest. Too full of concern.

"You don't need to be worried about me. Really," I said.

"If it's the guy I think it is," Micky spoke up, "he's bad news. Not somebody who's good to be around."

"Oh, okay," I said, and tried to give him a convincing smile. "I'll remember that and stay away from him."

Micky gave me a look, and I knew right then that he didn't believe me. So I looked away from his face.

"Why were you crying?" Davy asked then.

"I was just feeling sad. You know. No big thing," I said.

"Hmmm," Davy said.

Nobody said anything then. Finally the silence was broken by Peter.

"Let's hit the water," he suggested.

The others agreed, and everybody stood up, talking about taking their surfboards.

I stood up, too, wiping my hands on my shorts. My hands always seem to sweat when I'm nervous.

"You'll come, too?" Peter asked me. "And then we'll come back for hamburgers later."

"Okay," I agreed, glad that the "talk" that Davy had decreed was seemingly over. And also, glad that if I hung around, I'd have to

spend less time alone at the little house, dark with no electricity, and no food.

After everybody had changed, and I got into the swimsuit that was in my bag, we started walking down the stairs and towards the

beach. I somehow found myself walking along beside Micky. We were far enough behind the others that when he spoke, I knew they couldn't

hear him.

Still, his voice was low.

"I'm not sure why, but I what I am sure about is that you're lying. About that friend of yours. And about the guy."

I turned swiftly to look up at him, as we kept walking, plodding along in the sand. "You don't know that," I said, trying to convince

myself, as well as convince him.

"Yeah. I do," he said. I was still staring at him, horrified, as he turned away and looked back out towards the water. "And I also know you're lying about why you

were crying. There's more to it than just feeling sad."

I felt my throat tighten and tried to swallow. "Micky-" I began.

"I don't know why you're still not being honest with us. But I know what I know."

I stopped walking then, coming to a sudden halt. "Micky, please," I said, and he stopped, too.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking at me.

"Maybe you're right," I told him. "But I'm scared, okay?! I can't tell you why. But I'm scared!"

"Yeah. I know," he said. He sighed, and ran a hand thru his curly hair. "Maybe, when the fear is smaller than the pain, maybe then you'll be

able to be real with us."

I was so shocked at his words that I just stared at him, quiet.

"Because," he continued, "Davy and Pete, well they think a whole lot of you."

We stood, looking at each other for a moment in silence. The other guys were calling to us to hurry up.

"And besides," he added, with a small grin, "you're sort of growing on me, too."

7


	12. The last wall

After another swimming lesson from Davy, and building a mammoth sand castle with Peter, the afternoon passed

really quickly. Once we were trudging back up the beach we ran into Belinda, and the guys invited her to supper. So it was

a lively group that sat down to the hamburgers that Mike had cooked, after he'd been flipping them on the stove like a pro.

I had been watching him fry them, the smell making me practically crazy with hunger.

"You're good at that," I told him. I wasn't sure why, but I still felt a little shy around Mike.

"I worked in a diner when I was a kid," he told me.

"Around here?" I asked curiously.

"Nope. In Texas. I grew up in a little town down there."

"Oh," I said. I wanted to ask more questions, but before I could, he asked one of his own.

"How about you? Have you always lived around here? You and your grandpa?"

"We've been here awhile," I said, messing with the dishtowel kind of nervously.

"When do they expect him to be released to come home?" Mike asked then, as he put the hamburgers on a plate.

Ah, questions. Now I knew why you shouldn't ask them. Because, when you do, then people want to ask you some, too.

"I'm not really sure," I said, vaguely. And that, at least, was the truth.

"Well, if you need anything until he does come home, I mean anything that your neighbor can't do, then you can ask us."

I was so shocked that I looked at him, and my mouth was open.

"Alright?" he said, stopping with plate in hand to look down at me.

"Okay," I said. "That's really nice of you."

Mike shrugged. "We're friends. It's cool."

And, with that he went on to put the plate on the table, and call to everybody that the food was done. Immediately, the kitchen was full of the others. After we'd all

eaten, we even played a game of charades, which turned out to be hilarious. Everybody got up to take a turn acting something out, and the members of your team had

to guess what it was in a certain amount of time. I felt a little shy at first, but that didn't last long.

Micky, predictably, was hamming it up. Mike, when it was his turn, had a deadpan expression, but was equally hilarious.

The sun was turning orange in the sky by the time Belinda headed back to her apartment. She gave me a friendly wave as she went.

"We'll do a girl's day," she told me. "Do our nails and stuff."

I agreed, though I'd never been the type to be all girly and do my nails and hair on a regular basis. I guess I'd just never had time for that. I was always too busy helping Gramps with things.

After she'd gone, I helped the guys clean up a little, and then, reluctantly, I thought I'd better get going. Just the thought of that dark, empty house was

depressing. It didn't feel like home without Gramps there. And now there was no electricity. A sudden fleeting thought occurred to me. I wondered how long before the water was turned off, as well.

I guess my face must have shown my worried thoughts because Peter bumped me with his elbow. "You okay?" he asked.

I nodded, not trusting myself to answer without my voice giving something away.

"Guess I should go," I said.

"Come back tomorrow and we'll do a longer swim lesson," Peter told me.

"Okay," I agreed, glad to have an excuse to come back the next day. "In the morning?" I asked him, hoping that he would say yes.

"Yeah. Sure."

I gathered up my bag with my wet swimsuit, and extra clothes, and slung it over my shoulder.

"Thanks for the hamburgers, and everything," I said, in a general way towards them all.

"I'll walk along with you," Davy said.

"I will, too," Micky said.

"No, that's okay," I said hastily. "You don't need to-"

"We want to," Davy said.

"Really, it's fine," I protested. "You guys probably have stuff to do-"

"We have time," Davy said, seemingly unconcerned.

Peter waved at me, and Mike said, "Later."

I couldn't seem to discourage Davy and Micky from walking along with me. So, rather than continue to protest, and cause them

to be suspicious, I said no more. I figured that I could do what I'd done the first time they'd walked with me, and pretend the house with

the picket fence was my house.

So we walked down the beach, and onwards, with me walking in the center between them, while they talked across me,

about various things. Practice, and broken guitar strings, and stuff like that.

It was dusk by the time we reached the comforting looking house with the picket fence.

"Here we are," I said, with a false brightness.

"We'll wait till you get inside," Davy said. "Have your key?"

"Yeah. I've got it." I patted the pocket of my shorts, as though there was a key in it.

"Which house is your neighbor's?" Micky asked. "The one that's looking out for you?"

"Oh. That one," I said, picking a house right next door.

"It's dark," Davy said, looking dubiously at the other house. "Looks as though no one's home."

"It's fine-"

"I don't like leavin' you here, all alone," Davy said.

"It's fine," I said, again.

They were both standing there, under the street light which had just come on, just looking at me.

"See you guys tomorrow," I said, wanting them to just go.

"We'll see you inside," Davy said, and they began walking up the sidewalk.

I went into full-blown panic mode. I couldn't very well just open the door and walk into a total stranger's house, acting as though

I lived there! When they'd walked a few feet, and realized I was standing still, not moving, they stopped and turned back.

"What's on?" Davy asked, in his English slang.

And I understood just what he meant.

"Nothing," I said, still trying to think a way out.

"You have your key?" he asked again.

This time I said nothing. I just looked at him. And at Micky.

They exchanged glances and then they walked back over to where I stood.

They were both looking at me so intently that I felt my face turn warm in embarrassment.

"This isn't your house at all, is it?" Micky said, and it wasn't really a question the way he said it.

I pressed my lips together tightly, and just looked away, down the street. I felt tears gathering in my eyes.

After a couple of moments of silence, Davy said quietly, "Beth?"

He reached out to touch my arm, and while I didn't jerk away, I straightened my back defensively.

"Is it?" Micky asked me again.

I sighed. "No," I managed, and swiped at the tears on my cheek.

"Where is your house?" he asked.

"A couple of streets over," I said, still refusing to look at them.

I waited for them to ask me why I'd lied, why I was pretending to live somewhere that I didn't.

But they didn't ask those things.

Instead, Davy stepped around, so that he was facing me. "Should we go to your house, then?" he asked.

"I won't go to foster care!" I said fiercely.

Davy blinked at me, looking confused. "Alright," he said mildly.

I turned around until I was looking at both of them, head-on. "I won't!" I said again. "So just let me go on to my own stupid

house, and then I won't come around and bother you guys anymore, and you can all just forget that you ever met me!"

"We can't do that," Micky said.

"Sure you can," I argued. "You walk that way to the pad, and I walk this way to my house. It's that easy."

"I don't mean that," Micky said.

"Micky means that we can't go on and forget we ever met you," Davy clarified.

"Try," I said, still trying to act tough.

"Not possible," Micky said, and grinned at me.

"Righto," Davy said. And then he smiled the same beautiful smile he had the first day I'd met him on the beach.

"You're stuck with us," Micky said.

"And if you're stuck with us, then we're stuck with you, too," Davy said. He reached down and took my hand in his,

squeezing it a little.

"Show us your house," he said.

MMPD


	13. To the Rescue

Well, I started walking, going towards my own house, but it was reluctantly, I'll tell you that. Once we reached the darkness of the doorway, I reached inside

the neck of my shirt, and pulled out the chain with the key.

I fumbled to unlock the door, and then stepped inside.

Neither one of the guys said anything, so I preempted them with a little bit of attitude.

"There's no use trying to turn on the lights," I told them.

"Hmmm," Micky said.

"Do ya have a flashlight around?" Davy asked.

"Yeah. I'll get it." I inched forward in the dark room towards the couch where I'd slept at last night. I fumbled around between the cushions until my

hand closed on the flashlight that I'd left there. I switched it on, and shined the light around the room.

"Home sweet home," I said, and I knew I sounded bitter.

"How long has the electric been off?" Davy asked.

"A couple of days."

"Let me have that," Micky said, reaching out to take the flashlight from me. He walked on and I could hear him opening and closing the

refrigerator and the kitchen cabinets.

I heard a thumping in the pipes, and knew he was checking to see if there was water.

When he came back to where Davy and I were standing, he had matches and a candle from the cabinet. He lit the candle and set it on the coffee table.

There was a minute or two of uncomfortable silence.

"No food and no water," Micky informed Davy.

"Beth," Davy said, in a drawn-out sad voice.

I went to flop down on the couch, feeling as though I could burst into tears at any moment.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Davy asked.

I pressed my lips together, and was silent.

"That doesn't matter right now," Micky said, sounding practical.

"Right," Davy agreed. And then, he rubbed his hands together, and started issuing commands.

"Go and get some clothes together," he told me. "Hairbrush, and toothbrush, and all of that."

I sat there, staring at him in the candlelight.

"No," I said.

"What?" Davy asked, sounding puzzled.

"No," I repeated. "I won't go to the social services office."

"Beth-" Davy began.

"I won't go to foster care!" I said fiercely. "I have to be here so Gramps can have a place to come home to!"

"Your grandfather can't come here, with no electric and no water, now can he?" Davy pointed out. "Just getting out of hospital, is this

what you want for him?"

"Of course not! I'll figure something out!"

"I'll bet you can," Micky said, sounding calm. "But not tonight you can't."

"Micky's right," Davy said. "So go on now and get your things together. We won't leave you here by yourself."

"I thought you guys were my friends!" I hurled at them, feeling as if I had no emotional strength left.

"Of course we are," Davy said.

"Friends wouldn't take me to where I'd be shipped off to some lame foster home!"

Micky shined the light of the flashlight onto my face. "Who said anything about goin' to foster care?" he demanded.

"Right," Davy chimed in. "I didn't say that. Did you, Mick?"

"Nope," Micky offered. "Not me."

Even at that moment, it struck me how funny they were.

"Well, what then?" I asked tentatively.

"You'll come along with us back to the pad," Davy said. "You can stay there until we figure all this out."

I held my breath, hardly daring to hope.

"For real?" I asked.

"For real," Davy affirmed. "Now get cracking, and go get together anything you want to take with you."

"Okay," I said, and took the flashlight from Micky, hurrying to my room and grabbing some jeans and t-shirts, another pair of

shoes, and my pajamas. Then I hit the bathroom, scooping up my hairbrush and toothbrush, going back out to the living room, and

stuffing it all into my backpack. I remembered something and went back to my bedroom, reaching into a dresser drawer and pulling out

my wallet. It's old, and nearly falling apart. The five dollars I had left was tucked inside, and a couple of pictures of Gramps and I that were taken when I was

younger.

Both of the guys had gone to stand outside the front door, and I went out to stand beside them.

"I'm ready," I said, after I'd pulled the door shut.

"Let's go," Micky said, and we were halfway down the sidewalk when a door nearby was thrust open, and light shown outside.

"Well, well," she said. "You did come back."

I stopped so suddenly that I nearly plowed into Micky, and Davy nearly plowed into me.

"I'm surprised you have the nerve to come back around here," she ranted on.

Davy stepped in front of me. "I'm Davy," he said. "And you are?"

"I'm Leticia Shields. I own this property," she said, and gestured toward my house.

"You're a bit young to be bringing men around, aren't you?" Mrs. Shields went on, and I felt my face flame

at her filthy insinuation.

"There'll be no talkin' of Bethie that way," Davy said, in an angry tone.

"Who are you to tell me what's what?" Mrs. Shields demanded, sounding outraged.

"We're her brothers," Davy said, without missing a beat.

"That's right," Micky chimed in.

"Really?" Mrs. Shields said, plainly disbelieving.

"And she's coming with us right now," Micky went on.

Mrs. Shields shrugged in the dim light. "No skin off my nose," she said. "I'll be glad to have the brat out from underfoot. She and that

grandfather of hers owe me a month's back rent."

"There's some things of Gramps that are still inside," I said, in a low voice, and Micky spoke up,

"We'll be back in the morning to clear out the rest of the stuff," Micky told her.

"I don't have to allow you back in at all," Mrs. Shields threatened.

"But you're goin' to," Micky said, with an edge to his voice.

"I suppose," she said, and shut the door with a slam.

"Whew," Micky said.

"She's a charmer," Davy added, and I had the urge to giggle.

We walked back to the pad, and none of us said a darn word.

MMPD


	14. A Chat

When we walked up the steps, and opened the sliding door to the pad, Mike, who was cleaning up the living room, stopped

what he was doing to look at us.

"What's up?" he asked, looking puzzled to see me back again. "Is somethin' wrong?"

"A bit of a story," Davy said. "Where's Pete? We'll explain it all at once."

"He went out, to the store to get a couple of things," Mike said. "He should be gettin' back soon."

"Come on," Davy told me, "I'll show ya where you can put your stuff." He beckoned to me, and I followed him

as he went to the bedroom off to the right of the kitchen.

I watched as he took some shirts and pants out of a couple of drawers in the dresser.

"You can use these drawers," he told me. "We'll have Pete clear out some of his stuff, too."

"That's okay," I said. "I don't have that much."

Davy pointed to one of the beds in the room. "You can sleep here," he said. "Me and Pete will bunk in the living room."

"I don't want to take you and Peter's room," I protested.

"It's no problem," Davy brushed aside my comment. He smiled at me, and reached out to give my shoulder a pat.

"Put some of your stuff away if you want," he said. "Then come out and we'll see what we can round up for

a snack."

"Thanks," I said.

When he was almost to the door, going out of the room, I said, "Davy?"

"Yeah?" he asked, stopping to turn to look back at me.

With him looking at me, I suddenly lost my nerve of what I'd wanted to say.

"Nothing," I said.

"Okay," he said, and went out, closing the door behind him.

I looked around the room a little, and put my sparse assortment of clothes into the drawers that Davy had emptied.

When I came out, I was drawn by the smell of popcorn. The guys were all sitting, sprawled around the living room. Mike was strumming a chord

on his guitar, and Micky was absently tapping his drumsticks on the table.

"Hey," Davy said, looking up to see me standing there. "Come and have some popcorn, luv," he said.

I went over, and settled on the floor next to Peter. Peter smiled at me, and held out a bowl of popcorn to me.

"Thanks," I said, and took a handful.

I had put a few pieces in my mouth, when Davy said, "Well, we should have a talk, right?" to me.

I munched the popcorn quickly. "I guess so," I said. I felt nervous and anxious again.

Mike stood the guitar against the side of the couch, and Davy leaned forward, folding his hands together.

"I appreciate you guys letting me stay here," I said, in a hurry.

"It's fine," Peter said. "We want you to." His voice was warm, and I could tell he meant it,

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"It sounds as though things have been rough for you," Mike said quietly, clasping his hands behind his head.

"Kind of," I said.

"Micky says he's goin' back tomorrow to get some more things from your house," Mike went on.

"Uh huh."

"And after that, you don't have to go back there anymore," Peter said.

The thought of that should have bothered me. I mean, after all, it had been Gramps and I's home. But it really didn't.

"It might seem sort of weird at first, being here instead of there," Davy said, into the conversation.

I answered without thinking. "No. It won't. It was lonely and horrible, after Gramps was gone." I gestured

around the messy, comfortable room. "This already seems more like home to me than it ever did." I hesitated.

I'd touched them. I could tell. Davy looked pleased, and Peter reached over and covered my hand with his.

"That's cool," Mike said.

"We'll have to figure out somethin' else more permanent later on," Davy said, and I felt my stomach knot in response.

"Don't get all shook," Davy said, seeing the look of worry I had on my face. "We don't have to decide anything right now."

"Okay," I said hesitantly, "But I don't want to go into foster care-"

"Let's not worry about that right now," Mike said.

"Maybe when Gramps gets out of the rehab center, we can get another little house around here," I suggested, though I knew that wasn't likely, since

I didn't know where we'd get the money for rent at another place. But, I said it, because sitting here, comfortable and safe, I felt hopeful again.

"Maybe so," Micky said.

"How much money do you have, exactly?" Davy asked.

I looked at him and said, "I can get a job, to help pay for me staying here."

"Don't be daft," Davy said, and he was actually frowning at me. It was the first time that he'd ever acted as though

he was irritated at me.

I didn't like it. It made me feel weird inside.

"Davy didn't mean that," Mike spoke up, for Davy. "We're friends. We're concerned, that's all. Right, Davy?"

"Right," Davy agreed. "We didn't bring you here so that you could pay us for anything."

"Oh," I said, feeling embarrassed. "I have about five bucks, I think."

Their expressions were surprised, and sad.

"That's all?" Peter asked.

"Yeah."

"It sounds as though you were pretty near the edge," Micky said, leaning forward. "What have you been living on?"

"Gramps was giving me what he could," I said. "And I was-"

When I stopped talking suddenly, Micky said, "You were what?"

I had no intention of telling them that I'd been getting money from being a petty thief. After all, I liked these guys. And I thought

they liked me, too. Well, I knew they did. Otherwise they wouldn't have offered me a place to stay, or tried to help me like they were. If they

knew what I'd been up to, they most likely wouldn't want any more to do with me. That thought scared me.

So I said, trying to sound casual, "I was doing a few odd jobs, here and there."

"Hmm," Micky said, leaning back again.

"It hasn't been easy for ya," Mike said, looking sympathetic.

For a few minutes nobody said anything at all. Peter held out the bowl of popcorn, offering me more, and I shook my head. This whole

"have a talk" thing was new to me. I was still nervous, and hoping they didn't change their minds about letting me stay here.

"You'll be wanting to go visit your grandfather, right?" Davy asked me.

"Yeah. Maybe I can go tomorrow. I know he's probably worried."

"Good. We can go after breakfast," Davy said.

I looked at him in surprise. "You don't have to. I'm used to going by myself."

"Right. But I think we should meet your grandfather. It's the right thing," Davy continued.

"Oh."

I guess my reluctance showed on my face, because Davy said, "You don't want us to meet him?"

"It's not that," I said. "He'll like you guys fine. It's just that-"

I let my voice trail off. How to explain that this whole thing was going to be quite a shock to Gramps?

And they didn't help me out. Peter and Mike looked at me questioningly, and Davy and Micky raised their

eyebrows.

"Just that what?" Micky asked.

"Well," I began slowly, picking at one of my fingernails. "Gramps didn't know exactly how bad things were. Money-wise, I mean."

"What did he think?" Davy asked.

"I told him I was making some money, and all of that," I said vaguely.

"Your grandfather must have known that you weren't making enough to pay all the bills," Davy pointed out.

"Well, yeah," I admitted. "But the fall and the hospital stay really shook him up, and so when he asked things, I was able to distract him."

They all exchanged looks.

"I was just trying to keep him from worrying," I said, in defense.

"Well, sure," Peter said, speaking up for me. "And besides, he knew you had a neighbor looking after you. Right?"

I tried to school my expression into agreement. "Right."

"It seems as though that neighbor wasn't really doin' that great of a job of lookin' out for ya," Mike said.

"Well, she tried, you know," I said, picking at my fingernail again. "She was busy with her own stuff and all-"

"She's a nice lady, huh?" Davy asked.

"Yeah. Real nice," I said quickly.

"Maybe tomorrow when we go back to the house, we should stop by and let your neighbor know what's going on, and you can thank her

for helping you out, and all that," Davy suggested.

He sounded sincere, and I gave him a panicked look before I caught myself.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I debated on whether to come clean. I figured I'd better, or otherwise Davy would start knocking on doors himself, trying to find the "helpful

neighbor lady".

"Okay. I have a confession," I said.

"Yeah?" Davy asked. Again with the raised eyebrow.

"There was a neighbor lady, that Gramps was paying to look after me. But she had to leave town."

"Oh?" Davy asked.

"Uh huh."

"When did she leave?" he asked.

"Awhile ago," I said vaguely.

They all looked at me. Waiting. Nobody said a word.

"A few weeks," I admitted, into the silence.

"And your grandpa doesn't know this?" Micky asked.

"No."

"So you lied about the neighbor," Davy said, looking disappointed.

"I didn't want Gramps to worry! There was nothing he could have done!" I protested, in defense of my lie.

"We get that," Peter said, and he squeezed my hand. "But you lied to us."

Looking at Peter, I felt as low as a person could. "I'm sorry," I said. "When I told you all that, I still didn't know if I could trust you guys."

"How about now?" Mike asked.

"Now I trust you all," I said, really softly.

"Well, that's good," Mike said, and he smiled at me.

"Cool," Peter said.

"So from here on out, we're straight with you, and you're straight with us. Dig?" Davy asked me.

I nodded, swallowing past the one huge lie still in my throat. Which was Sasha, and my foray into petty crime.

"Okay," Davy said, seemingly satisfied with my response. "Chat's done. Let's eat."

"We have any ice cream?" Peter asked, sounding hopeful.

MPDM


	15. Return of a bad seed

After we finished up the popcorn, and some ice cream that Mike had hidden in the freezer, I helped the guys clean up, and then listened while

they practiced some songs. After that, we watched a show on television. By the time I headed to bed, I was feeling pretty darn comfortable, warm and

full of snacks.

I told the guys goodnight, and went to change into my pajamas. I was climbing into bed, when there was a light tap on the door.

"Come in," I said, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

"Do you need anything?" Davy asked, stepping into the room.

"No, thank you. Everything is great."

Davy smiled, looking pleased. "Okay. Great. See you in the morning."

"Night," I said. And then, "Davy?"

He paused at the door, waiting.

"I don't know how to thank you." I felt myself getting choked up with emotion. "I mean-things were bad, and

I wasn't sure what I was going to do-"

"Aww, luv," he said. "It's alright. Things will be better now."

"Okay," I said, in a raspy voice.

"G'night," he said.

"Goodnight," I told him.

I was scrambling down under the fuzzy blanket when there was another knock on the door.

"Come in," I said.

"I brought ya an extra blanket," Mike said, as he opened the door, and came in.

"Oh," I said. "I don't think I need it."

"Well, I'll put it here in case you do," Mike said, and laid the blanket at the foot of my bed.

"Thanks," I told him.

"See ya at breakfast," he said.

"Ok. I really appreciate you guys letting me stay here," I said.

"Friends," Mike said. "Remember?"

"I'll remember," I said.

As I was drifting off to sleep, I thought that besides being comfortable, warm and not hungry, I also, for the first time in

a long while, felt safe.

MMPD

I woke up, feeling happy, and got dressed in a pair of cut off shorts, and a t-shirt, and then as I was heading out of the room,

I thought for a minute, and went back to make my bed. I wanted to pull my weight, and making my bed was the least of that.

I went out to the front room, where Micky, Davy and Peter were at the table, eating bowls of cereal.

"Good morning," I said, and they all turned to see me standing there.

"Hey," Davy said. "Good morning."

"How'd you sleep?" Micky asked me.

"Really good," I said honestly.

"Sit here," Peter said, pointing to the chair beside him.

I sat down, and Micky pushed a box of Frosted Flakes towards me, and Peter handed me the milk.

"Where's Mike?" I asked curiously.

"He went to pay the rent," Micky said.

"We thought we'd borrow a truck from a chum of ours," Davy told me. "To go and get the rest of your grandfather's things."

"Oh. Okay."

"After we've done all that, you can go and see your grandfather," Davy added.

I nodded. "Okay."

After breakfast was finished, I washed up the dishes. Peter came into the kitchen, followed by Mike.

"You don't have to do the dishes," Peter said.

"I want to," I told him. "I don't mind helping out."

The guys began to talk about later on that evening, and going to a party at Miranda's. I listened while I kept washing up.

When Davy appeared behind me, and said, "Ready to go?" I folded the dishtowel and laid it on the counter.

"Ready," I said. We went outside,

A battered old truck sat outside near the front walk.

"John's been here already," Davy said, and leaned into the open window. "He left the keys."

On the drive to Gramps and I's house, we bounced along, and I mean literally, since there seemed to be no springs in the seat. The windows were down,

and the sun was warm. Micky and Davy sang, harmonizing on a song as we drove. When they stopped, I said,

"You guys are really good. Better than anyone I've ever heard."

"Our own fan club president," Davy said. "Right here in the truck with us, eh, Mick?"

"Right," Micky agreed.

"Want the job?" Davy asked me, nudging me with his elbow.

"Sure," I said, going along with their teasing.

"Think about it," Micky advised, raising his eyebrows up and down. "The job's been open for a long, long time. The pay is lousy."

"That's okay," I said, laughing.

Once we were at the house, it didn't take long to load the few things that belonged to Gramps. I found a box, and packed his books, and his Bing Crosby

record albums. There was a teapot that had belonged to my grandmother. I wrapped it in newspaper and put it into the box. The guys were

shoving and lifting the desk and desk chair into the back of the truck.

Micky came back and took the box from me, as I was struggling to lift it.

"What else?" Davy asked me, looking around the rooms.

"That's it."

"What about your clothes, and things?" Davy asked.

"Oh, yeah," I said, and went into the bedroom that I'd used. I folded up my blanket, and found several pairs of shorts. I went back out into the

living room.

"Ok, I'm ready," I said.

They both looked at the sparse amount of clothes on top of the blanket I was holding.

"That's it?" Micky asked me. "Most girls your age have a ton of clothes-"

"Mick," Davy said, and Micky stopped talking, looking at me then, sort of sadly.

"Yeah," I said, trying to cover the awkward moment. "This is pretty much it."

"Off we go, then," Davy said, and we drove back towards the beach.

Davy pulled up in front of one of the beach shacks that sell hamburgers.

"Let's get some hamburgers and take back for lunch," he said. "We've got a lot to do, and it'll save some time."

Micky agreed and we all hopped out of the truck. I was standing there, listening while the guys ordered, when I saw Sasha

standing a few feet away. She'd had her hair cut, and she was wearing sunglasses, so I wasn't sure at first. But then she took off the glasses.

And I saw that it was her. And she started walking towards me, her eyes locked on me.

I thought about acting as though I didn't know her, then disregarded that as pure stupidity. Besides, I remembered that Micky and Davy had both

seen her that one time.

I made a quick decision to go back over to the truck. That way, if she was intent on talking to me, the guys wouldn't be able to overhear.

I'd barely walked two feet away, when Micky said, "Hey. Come back. You have to help carry some of this stuff."

Without causing suspicion, I couldn't refuse, so I went back to stand beside them, taking the sack he handed me.

"Isn't that your friend?" Micky asked me, with a nod towards Sasha, who was leaning casually against the side of the hamburger shack.

"Um, I don't know," I said, and then when Micky looked at me as though I was crazy, I added, "I mean, I think it is."

"You can go talk to her if you want to," Davy said.

I shook my head. "No. That's alright."

By the time we got back into the truck, all three of us carrying sacks of hamburgers and fries, Sasha had disappeared from her spot, and I breathed a

sigh of relief that a face-to-face with her had been adverted.

We were back at the pad within five minutes. Davy parked the truck, and shut off the motor.

The guys tore into the hamburgers. And I ate my share, which happened to be two hamburgers, and a glass of milk.

"We'll go see your grandfather," Davy said, adding ketchup to his hamburger.

"In the truck?" I asked.

"No. We'll take the bus. After we unload the things, John will want to come pick it up."

"Okay," I said. "Is it okay if I go sit on the beach for a few minutes?"

"Sure. We'll call for you when we're ready to go."

"Okay," I said, taking what was left of my second hamburger, and going to the sliding doors, going out and then closing them again.

I went down the beach a ways, finding a spot to sit, and dig my toes into the sand.

I was so enjoying watching the water, that my sense of peace was shattered at the sound of her voice.

"Hello, Beth."

I turned swiftly, looking up at Sasha.

"Hi," I said, since I didn't know what else to say.

"You don't seem very happy to see me," Sasha said, sinking down beside me in the sand. "It's a good thing my feelings don't get hurt easily." She smirked

at me, and I felt my stomach knot up.

"What do you want, Sasha?" I asked her.

"Just to talk for a few minutes."

"About what?" I asked, casting a look back towards the pad.

"Don't worry. None of your new friends are watching us," Sasha said.

She picked up some sand and let it dribble from her fingers, watching me. "You sure seem to have landed into a plum spot," she said.

I tried to stare her down, intent on not answering.

"How'd you happen to end up here, with them?" she asked.

Still I was silent, and Sasha shrugged. "Okay. That's not really important to me, anyway. What is important is that you seem to be real

comfortable. And they probably have lots of friends."

"So what?" I asked.

"They have friends. Those friends have apartments. Those apartments are full of nice stuff. And I like nice stuff."

I stared at her in horror. "I'm not going to help you do that!"

"You don't have to help. All you have to do is find out some of those friend's schedules. When they're home. When they're not. All of that."

"I won't!" I said.

Sasha shrugged, appearing casual, but when she looked at me, her eyes were as cold as ice.

"It'd be a real shame, if those guys were to find out about your not-so-stellar past. That they're actually harboring a thief in their place. They seem like

such nice guys. I'll bet they just wouldn't understand."

My throat was so tight that before I could answer her, we heard yelling, and, looking over towards the balcony of the pad,

Peter was standing there, waving to me.

"Bethie!" he was calling. "We're ready!"

I jumped to my feet, and Sasha stood up, too.

"Which one is that?" she asked, sounding casual. "He's cute. Maybe he'd like to go out sometime."

"Peter. And you leave him alone!" I threatened.

Sasha laughed. "You must think I'm a real dangerous girl, Beth."

"I know exactly what you are," I told her darkly.

Sasha lost her smile. Her eyes hardened again. "Bethie? Is that what he called you? It sounds like he really likes you. I'd think you'd

want to keep it that way."

I heard her veiled threat in those words.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, mostly to get rid of her.

"Meet me tonight. Right here on the beach, at nine o'clock. We'll talk more then."

I turned to start going back up the beach, without answering.

"Don't be late now, Beth," she called after me. "If you are, I might have to knock on the door, and ask cute Peter to invite me in."

7


	16. The Guys meet Gramps

We went on the bus to see Gramps at the rehabilitation center. At first it was only Davy who was going to go with me, but at the last minute, all

three of the others decided to go, too.

"It's only right," Mike said, in explanation. "We need to try to set his mind at ease about Beth stayin' here."

"Right," Davy agreed, looking thoughtful. He turned to me. "We don't want your Granddad thinking the worst of us. He should meet all of us."

For the first time, I considered what Gramps might think, when I walked into the center with four young men, all strangers, and all of them with

their hair on the longish side.

"He'll like you guys fine," I said. "It's me he'll be upset with. For not telling him about all the problems I was having."

"After you explain things, he'll understand then," Peter said, with confidence.

I nodded, hoping that Peter was right.

We boarded the first bus, and found seats fairly close together. When it came time to switch to the second bus, it was more crowded, so

we couldn't all sit together. I found myself squeezed in a seat, between Mike and Peter.

Amidst the noises on the bus, Mike scribbled words into a small notebook. Occasionally, he would hand it across me towards Peter, who

would read over it, and then hum while he read it again. It went that way for the majority of the distance to the rehab center.

"Are you writing a song?" I asked Mike, as he began to scribble yet again.

"I'm attempting it, anyway," he said dryly. He paused his writing to look at me. "Want to read it?" he asked me.

Honored, I only nodded, surprised that he would ask me.

He handed me the worn-looking notebook, and I read over the words. Though marked through and crossed out, I could still read

enough to know that it sounded like a poem. A lovely poem. I handed it back to him.

"It must be like nothing else, to be able to create that way," I said. "To be able to give to other people like that."

I'd surprised him, I could tell.

"Well, I don't know about that," he said slowly. "What I write down doesn't always come to anything."

"But, it should!" I insisted, speaking without thinking first. "It makes me feel as though I was there, in what you wrote. Or if I wasn't there,

that at least I'd want to be there."

At the look in his eyes, I felt suddenly shy again. Embarrassed.

"I don't know how to say what I mean," I said, ducking my head a little.

"You said it just fine," Mike said. "Thank you." Then he smiled at me. And I had that feeling again. That when he smiled that way,

it was as if all the sun came out.

Once we arrived at the last bus stop, we finished with the short walk to the rehab center.

"That's quite something," Davy was saying. "Two different buses just to get here."

"Yeah," I agreed. "But it's only when it's dark going back that it's really creepy."

At that comment, they all exchanged looks with each other.

"Maybe that's something that you shouldn't do," Davy said, and I looked at him in surprise.

Before I could reply or ask him what he meant, we were walking into the center.

Gramps was sitting out in the main room, playing checkers with a friend.

"Hello!" he said, his wrinkled face beaming with his smile. "It's my Blossom, come to see me!"

"Hello, Gramps," I said, leaning down to give him a hug, and a kiss on his cheek.

"This is my granddaughter," Gramps informed his checker-playing friend, who I recognized. I knew that Gramps had introduced me to

the man before, but I just said hello to him.

As the guys were standing behind and beside me, I took the plunge into introductions.

"Gramps, these are some friends. This is Davy, and Peter, Micky and Mike," I said, pointing out each one as I said their name.

"Hullo, sir," Davy said, and extended a hand to Gramps. Gramps took the offered handshake, and then the other three guys shook hands with

Gramps, too.

"We're glad to meet you," Peter offered.

"It's good to meet you all, too," Gramps said.

He gestured to chairs along the walls. "Sit down, sit down," he urged, and all four of them pulled chairs up closer to the table that

Gramps was sitting at. His checker-playing friend rolled himself across the room in his wheelchair to talk to other residents.

"How did you fellas meet my Blossom?" Gramps asked.

It was Davy who spoke up. "We met on the beach," he said. "We've gotten well acquainted in the last couple of weeks."

"We've been giving Beth swimming lessons," Peter added.

"My, that is a surprise," Gramps said. "Blossom has been wary of the water since she was a baby."

"She's doing great," Peter said.

I'd still been standing beside Gramps, with my hand on his shoulder, and he reached up to take my hand to hold in his.

"What do you boys do?" Gramps asked.

"We're musicians," Micky said.

"That right?" Gramps asked, sounding dubious.

"They're really good, Gramps," I said. "Talented."

That earned me a smile from Davy, and a wink besides.

"You're able to make a living doing that, are you?" Gramps asked.

"Well, it's not always easy," Davy said, and grinned.

"But we do alright," Micky added.

"I used to play a little guitar myself years ago," Gramps said.

"Is that right?" Peter asked, looking interested.

After Peter engaged Gramps into conversation about that for a few minutes, I caught the glances that were being sent my way.

From Davy. And Mike, too. The barest of nods. Encouraging me to get on with things.

"Gramps," I began, "I need to talk to you about Mrs. Harper-"

"She waiting out in the car, like always?" Gramps asked me.

"No. I came on the bus." At the sharp look Gramps gave me, I added, "I mean, we all came on the bus."

"Well, what about Mrs. Harper?" he asked.

"Well-" I hesitated, "She had to go out of town."

Gramps straightened up in his wheelchair. "Today? Well, we need to think where you'll stay tonight, until she gets back."

"The guys have offered to let me stay at their place," I said.

"Is that right?" Gramps asked, looking startled.

"We're glad to do it," Davy said, leaning forward in his chair and looking directly at my grandpa.

Still looking unsure, Gramps looked up at me. "When will Mrs. Harper be back in town?"

I hesitated, looking away from his azure blue eyes, aged in his face. "I'm not sure," I said evasively.

"Beth," Davy said, and when I looked toward him, he shook his head slightly at me. "You need to tell your grandfather what's

been happening."

Gramps looked startled at that comment. "What is it?" he asked me. "What do you need to tell me?"

"Mrs. Harper's been gone for awhile already," I said.

"How long is awhile?" Gramps asked me.

"Weeks ago," I admitted.

Gramps seemed to lose color in his face, turning so pale that I was frightened.

"It's alright," I said quickly.

"You've stayed at the house?" he asked me then.

"I did," I said.

"What is it you're trying so hard not to tell me, my girl?" Gramps asked.

I sighed, kneeling down beside the wheelchair. "I stayed at the house, until last night. I just didn't have enough money-" I lost my courage,

and laid my head on Gramps's leg.

His hand came up to smooth my hair.

"The electric was turned off," Davy said. "Beth wasn't sure what to do. We met her, and she's been hanging out with us."

I felt Gramps' hand shaking, and I raised my head, squeezing his knee. "Don't be upset, Gramps!"

"I've failed you," he said sadly.

"No!" I said, tears filling my eyes. "You've done everything just right!"

"My poor girl," he went on. "I expected too much of you."

"It's not your fault," I defended.

For a moment my eyes locked with Gramps' eyes. Then he seemed to find strength, and touched my cheek.

"Go and fetch me a ginger ale, will you, Blossom?" he asked me.

"Now?" I asked, confused.

"Yes. Now. Will you, please?"

"But we're talking-" I began to protest.

"I'd like to talk to these boys for a few minutes," Gramps said.

"I should stay-" I continued my protest.

"Let us talk with your grandfather," Davy told me.

I wanted to argue, but then Peter was standing, and had taken my hand, pulling me to my feet.

"Come on, Bethie," he coaxed. "I'll go for a walk with you."

I went with Peter, and he walked outside with me, where we walked up the sidewalk in front of the center, and then back again.

"Let's go over there," Peter said, pointing to the fountain in the center of the landscaped area.

Once we were there, Peter reached into his pocket, pulling out some change.

"Here," he said, offering me a penny.

I shook my head in refusal.

Peter looked thoughtful for a moment, and then tossed the penny into the water of the fountain.

I sat down on the concrete wall of the fountain, and he sat down beside me.

"I don't see why I had to come out here," I said in complaint.

When Peter was silent, I looked sideways at him.

"I should be in there," I continued on. "Not sent out like I'm a little kid. What does Gramps want to talk to the guys about, anyway?"

"I'm fairly certain that he'll want to ask questions, and try to find out if we're good guys. All of that," Peter said.

"I could tell him that!" I protested.

"Sure," he agreed. "You could. But sometimes, a person can tell more about someone else by talking to them directly. Watching

how they answer questions. Stuff like that."

I huffed a little in protest, but was quiet.

"Think about your grandpa," Peter went on. "Here he is, having a game of checkers today, and then his Blossom shows up, towing along all

these guys who he's never met before. And then they announce that his granddaughter is staying with them. I mean, if you were confronted with

all of that, and had a weird bunch like us staring at you, wouldn't you want to ask a question or two?"

I recognized his attempt at humor. "You aren't all that weird," I said, in answer, and he gave me a shoulder bump with his own

shoulder.

"Thanks," he said, with a grin.

"Well, maybe Micky is," I said, with a slight giggle, and we bumped shoulders again.

"Your grandpa wants to make sure that we're not lechers who want to hurt you, or take advantage of you," Peter went on. "You're the most

important thing in the world to him, I'm sure. He wants to make sure you're safe."

"Okay. I get it," I said.

He leaned down to turn and peer up into my face, crossing his eyes.

I gave him a playful shove. "Stop," I told him.

We sat in silence for a few more minutes, and then I asked, "Do you think it's okay to go back in now?"

"It should be," Peter said, and we walked back inside the rehab center.

MMPD


	17. An understanding between men

Once back inside, Peter and I found Micky standing in front of the vending machine in the front lobby.

"Want a candy bar?" he asked me, as he deposited coins into the slot.

"No. Thanks," I said. I hesitated, and looked around. "Are Davy and Mike still talking to Gramps?"

"Yeah." Micky bent down to retrieve the candy bar, and then straightened up again. "They went to his room."

I nodded, and left Micky and Peter standing there, going back down the hallway to Gramps' room.

The door to the room was open just slightly, and I paused outside. I knew I shouldn't eavesdrop, but I was curious what

was being said.

"We can promise you that, sir," Davy was saying.

Promise him what, I wondered.

"That won't be a problem," Mike said.

"Come in, my Blossom," Gramps called out, and I pushed the door open, feeling a little embarrassed that he'd known I was

standing there listening.

Davy was sitting in a chair near Gramps' wheelchair, and Mike was leaning against the small dresser in the room. I went to sit beside Davy, nearest

to Gramps, and he reached out to take my hand.

"What have you guys been talking about?" I asked.

"We've been deciding things," Gramps said.

"What things?" I asked, feeling just the fluttering of unease.

As if on cue, Davy stood up. He thrust out his hand to Gramps.

"It's been a pleasure to meet you, sir," Davy said.

"You too, my boy," Gramps said. "We'll talk again."

"Absolutely," Davy agreed, as Mike stepped forward to shake hands with Gramps, too.

"Goodbye, sir," Mike said.

"Michael," Gramps said, with a nod at Mike. "You come again, alright?"

"I will," Mike said.

"Alright, then," Davy said, pausing to look down at me. "We'll leave you to talk to your grandfather. We'll be outside."

I nodded at Davy, as he and Mike left the room.

Gramps gave my hand a squeeze.

"I like your friends," he told me.

"I'm glad," I said, and I was. It would have been awful if Gramps hadn't liked the guys.

"They seem like good boys," he went on.

"They are. They're good guys," I agreed.

Gramps gave me a long look. "My poor little girl," he said. "You've had a rough go of things, haven't you?"

"It hasn't been so bad," I said stoutly.

"It has," Gramps countered. "I can see that it was too much for you. You're just a little girl, and you had to carry on as an

adult. I should have made other arrangements for you."

"I'm not a little girl, Gramps," I protested. "And it's not your fault. None of it."

"Well, it's certainly not your fault," Gramps said.

"Things will be better now," I said. "You're getting better, and when you get out of here soon, then we'll get another house-"

"Now, let's hold on a minute," Gramps said. "I've got a good ways to go before I'm fully recovered. That's not easy to admit, but it's

the truth. And I think it's time we started being more honest with one another. Don't you?"

I felt my face turn warm at his gaze.

"Yes, Gramps," I said.

"Well, then we'll have to see how fast I get this old hip moving again. And then we'll discuss a house and all of that. What's important is

what you're going to do until that time."

He sighed a little. "I'm going to agree to you staying with your friends, for a time. They say that they have a friend nearby, a young lady, that

you could stay with, as well, if needed."

"Miranda?" I asked. "She's nice, but I'd rather stay with the guys. They fixed up a bedroom for me, Gramps, and they're so

nice to me."

"I can see that. They seem to care about you very much."

"I think they really do," I said, and I felt happy just saying it.

"Still, though, it's quite a responsibility for them to take on."

I frowned at Gramps a little. "I'm not a little kid, Gramps. I won't be any trouble to them."

"See that you aren't," Gramps said, in mock gruffness.

"I'll be looking over my finances," Gramps went on. "To give them something for your upkeep."

"I don't think they care about that," I told him. "They're not really into money."

"Perhaps not. But money is, unfortunately, a necessary thing," he said.

Gramps gave me a long look, his eyes taking me in, as if memorizing my face.

"You'd best get on along now," he said. "The boys are probably ready to go."

"Okay," I said, and reached out to hug Gramps around his neck. "I'll be back soon," I promised.

"Alright, my darlin'," he said, sounding emotional.

I gave his wrinkled cheek a quick kiss, and went out of the room quickly.

I saw Davy at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall. He pushed himself off the wall as I came towards him.

I blinked tears away, and tried to smile at him.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi. Are you alright?"

"Yes. It's just-it's hard to leave Gramps sometimes."

Davy nodded. "I understand that."

"Where are the other guys?" I asked.

"Outside."

We started walking out together, and I gave him a sideways glance. "Do you like Gramps, Davy?"

"I do," Davy said immediately. "He's a right genial chap."

"He likes all of you, too."

"We promised him we'd take good care of you," Davy said. "A solemn promise."

"He knows you will. But, I can pretty much take care of myself, you know. I won't be a bother to you guys."

Davy stopped walking for a moment, and I stopped too, looking at him curiously.

"About that," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"You can't, you know. Take care of yourself properly, I mean."

I started to protest, and Davy spoke over me.

"You did a good job of trying. I'm not saying that you didn't. But you need a little help."

"Well, I know that," I said. "I mean, I told you guys that I don't know what I would have done without your help. But, I mean now that I have

a place to stay and all, I can take care of myself."

Davy looked doubtingly at me, and I added, "Well, mostly."

"All I'm tryin' to say is this," he said. "You are just a kid, whether you want to admit it or not. We promised your granddad that we'd

keep you safe."

"What does that mean?" I asked, puzzled. Then I said, jokingly, "I'm not going to try out for the circus highwire act, or anything."

"Well, that's good," Davy said, acknowledging my joke. "But I mean, like for instance, taking the bus at night, stuff like that. We don't want

you to do that anymore."

"Oh." I thought about that for a second. "Okay."

"Probably there will be other things, too," Davy said. "We'll have to figure things out as we go along."

"Okay," I said again, slowly, and we started walking again, heading towards the other three guys, who were sitting on the

concrete wall by the fountain that Peter and I had been at earlier.

"It's sort of like having brothers," I said, and Davy looked at me.

"I mean, older brothers look out for their sisters," I added. "You know?"

"Yeah. You think you're going to like that? Having us as brothers?" he asked.

"I think there's a good chance of it," I said, and smiled at him.

MMPD


	18. An evil smile

When we had ridden the buses, and gotten back to the bus stop that was nearest to the beach pad, we walked the rest

of the way. The last part of the walk thru the sand, it was only Davy and Mike and I, because Micky and Peter stopped at the snack shack to talk to some other people.

Once back at the pad, the three of us began cleaning the house. I was pulling sheets off of the beds to be washed, when I heard

Davy calling me. I went back out to the living room and said, "What?" before I saw her there. Sasha. She was wearing

Bermuda shorts and a lacy shirt that looked new. She was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking totally comfortable, and at ease.

Davy and Mike were both standing there, Davy with a dustcloth in his hand, and Mike, with his hands full of newspapers that he'd

obviously been picking up.

"Hello, Beth," Sasha said, as sweetly as if we were the best of friends.

I was so startled to see her there, that it took me a moment to find my voice. "What are you doing here?" I asked her,

without thinking first, and I saw the look of surprise on both Davy and Mike's faces.

"Isn't it today that we were supposed to get together?" Sasha asked, without missing a beat.

I wanted to glare at her, but I saw that both of the guys were watching curiously.

"You two girls can go on ahead and talk," Mike said. "Davy and I have work to do."

Sasha thanked him, smiling so brightly that I wondered if Mike would be blown away by it. When I looked at his face,

though, he didn't look all that impressed. He and Davy went towards the kitchen.

I motioned for Sasha to follow me, stalking over to the sliding door. I slid it open, and, once she'd followed me outside,

I shut it behind me.

"What do you want?" I demanded, without preamble.

"You know what, Beth? You're starting to make me really, really angry," Sasha said, lowering her voice and stepping closer,

until she was almost in my face.

Well, I couldn't help it. She still had the power to intimidate me. I bit at my lip nervously.

"We're finished. You said so," I said, knowing that I sounded like a little kid.

"That was a mistake, for me to say that. You've landed on your feet. Like a cat. Besides, I told you I'd be back tonight at

nine so we could plan something. Remember?" she said.

"I was trying to forget," I said.

Sasha laughed. But it was a harsh sounding laugh. "No chance of that," she said. "Anyway, I can't come tonight after all. But I've got

a couple of jobs in mind."

I knew what she meant by "jobs". My heart sank.

"I'll come by in a couple of days, and we'll talk then," she said.

I saw that Micky and Peter had come up the opposite direction, and were at the bottom of the staircase, coming up.

"Just leave me alone," I said, in as strong a voice as I could muster up, without Micky or Pete overhearing me.

"Hey, Bethie!" Peter called out, halfway up the wooden stairs.

Sasha leaned closer to me again. "I just can't do that, Beth. Not yet." She straightened back up to her full height, and

gave her long hair a toss.

"It's the cute one again," she said, and smiled at Peter as brilliantly as she had at Mike a little earlier.

"Hi!"

Peter and Micky both said hi to her, and then paused, since they couldn't really get around her and I.

When Sasha had headed down the wooden stairs, turning to give a flirty little wave to Peter, Micky looked at

me and said with a half-way grin, "Wow. That's some friend you've got there."

"She's not my friend," I said. "I mean, not really."

They both looked at me in interest, waiting.

"I just sort of met her and-" I hesitated. "Well, I haven't made any real friends since I've been here or anything."

"You don't want her for a friend?" Micky asked me.

"Well, no, not really," I said honestly.

"Well, maybe you can meet some more kids now," Peter said, with a smile.

"That'd be nice," I said, and Micky pushed the door open so we could all go back inside.

We all pitched in and got the pad all cleaned up, and then the guys all started getting ready to go next door to

Miranda's for the party she was having.

I could tell by the way the guys were talking that they didn't want to leave me home by myself.

"It's cool," I told them. "I'm tired, anyway. It's been a real long day, going to the house, and seeing Gramps, and all

that." I could have added having Sasha stop by to start trouble added to that tiredness, but I didn't say that part.

As they were getting ready to leave, Davy was hovering around me.

"There's popcorn and chips for you to snack on," he said. "And there's some Koolaid, I think."

"Okay. Thanks," I said.

When they'd gone next door, I wandered around the house for a few minutes, before I sat down to read

a book Peter had let me borrow, and munch on my popcorn. It was quiet, but it wasn't a lonely quiet, like what I'd been

feeling at my little house lately. I guessed that was because I knew that the guys were right next door, and that they'd be

home later.

I fell asleep on the couch, feeling as though I was 'home'.

7


	19. Invisable spots

Sasha kept her distance, not coming around, and so I was lulled into a sense of security over the next week or so. Maybe, I thought, she'd decided to find

someone else to help her. It was a huge relief to me to know there'd be no more play-acting on the beach, and stealing from people.

I got up every morning, feeling happy. Light inside. The heaviness and worry were gone.

I kept busy, working around the beach house. I kept everything vacuumed, and dusted, and even did a lot of the cooking. Once, I

offered to go to the grocery store, and Mike gave me the money.

When I returned, I'd gotten everything on the grocery list, and still had change to hand back to him.

"Wow," he said. "Change back, even? That's great."

I was pleased by his praise, but embarrassed, too. I shrugged, and grinned at him a little shyly.

"I got used to pinching pennies, I guess," I told him. "Me and Gramps."

"Well, it's amazing," Mike said, and tugged on my ponytail gently. "You're pretty amazing yourself."

"Thanks," I said, feeling as though I could float, I felt so good. Mike was sparing with his praise, I'd noticed. So when he did offer

up a compliment to me, it really meant something.

"This place has never looked this good before," Micky observed one night, as we were all hanging out in front of the television,

munching on popcorn.

"Yeah. You're taking right good care of us, my Beth," Davy said, smiling at me.

Davy had taken to calling me 'my Beth' the last few days, and every time he did it, it made me feel warm inside.

"You don't have to work so hard, you know," Mike observed. "You should be meeting some kids your own age, and having

some fun, too."

"It's fun doing stuff for you guys," I told him. "It makes me feel good."

"How are the swimming lessons going?" Micky asked, looking at me and Peter, since Pete was the one who'd basically taken

over trying to teach me to swim.

"She might even be ready for the Olympics next summer," Peter said.

"I'm actually pretty terrible," I admitted.

"No such thing," Peter objected. "What do I keep telling you, all the time?"

"Have confidence, have confidence," I recited back.

"Right on," Peter said, and reached across to grab another handful of popcorn.

We watched a movie that night, and Miranda popped over from next door to watch with us. It seemed to me that there were an awful

lot of nice people in this entire building, who seemed to watch out for one another, and actually seemed to care.

I found it such a contrast from the neighborhood where Gramps and I had lived.

I'd observed, too, that the guys found alternate ways to make money to pay the bills with, in between music gigs. Davy fed and

exercised horses for some of the more wealthy people in the area. And occasionally all of them would hire out to help somebody

move furniture, or something like that. Still, I knew that money was in short supply, so I didn't ask for anything. Besides,

it was summer, and all I really needed was a pair of sandals, or sneakers, and some shorts and t-shirts. Which I had. Miranda had

given me a few shirts as well, which I appreciated, although at first I'd felt a little awkward about it.

She'd even brought up the fact that when school started, I'd need some new clothes, and shoes. When she said it, the guys all

looked funny, and I knew that it hadn't even occurred to any of them.

"You guys are such guys," Miranda said, with a laugh, and a playful push at Micky.

Davy said something about me going to get new clothes, and Miranda said she would be glad to take me shopping.

"We'll have the money, when you want to go," Davy said.

I felt uncomfortable, and thought I'd talk to them about it later. Tell them that I didn't need new clothes. At least not the amount that

Miranda seemed to think I needed. I knew they didn't have the money for that.

I found my opportunity later that night. After Miranda had gone back home, next door, I went to the bedroom that the guys had

given me to use, and changed into my pajamas. I loosened my ponytail, and came back out to living room, brushing my hair as I walked.

Micky had disappeared, but the other guys were going around, turning off the television, and picking up popcorn that had been spilled onto the floor.

"Brushed your teeth yet?" Davy asked me.

"Not yet."

"Brushed teeth are happy teeth," Peter chimed in, crossing his eyes at me comically.

I smiled at him, and then went to sit on the end of the couch, tucking my legs under myself, still brushing my hair.

"Hey, guys," I said, as they bustled around me, still clearing up the living room. "I don't want you to worry about any new

clothes for me. I have enough."

"For now, you do," Davy said, busy stacking up newspapers. "But you'll need new ones in a few weeks."

"Just a pair of jeans, or something," I said. "I don't need a big shopping trip, like what Miranda's talking about."

"Most girls want to go shopping," Davy said.

"I'm not like most girls, I guess," I said, and Davy stopped, to look at me. So did Peter and Mike. Then they all looked at each other.

"I just don't want you guys spending money on me that you need for bills or something-" I began.

Davy sighed heavily, and plopped down beside me on the couch. "We won't sell our blood, or anything like that, but we can

manage a few new clothes for you."

"Yes, but-" I began to protest.

Davy reached over and pressed a finger gently over my lips, effectively silencing me. Then he reached down to squeeze my hand.

"It's sweet of ya to worry about us," Davy said, "But we have our ways to make things work out. Right, guys?"

"Right," Peter said, and Mike nodded.

"Okay," I said, giving in, but determined to take it up with them again later. A sudden thought occurred to me. I pushed the thought away to

puzzle on later. I got up to go to bed. As my time with the guys had progressed, it had gotten so that before I went to bed, I would tell them

all good night. Davy had begun giving me a nightly hug goodnight, and Peter did too, most nights. Tonight they both did that, and then when I

passed by Mike, I said, "Goodnight, Mike."

Mike stopped picking up newspapers, in order to turn to face me. "Night, Beth," he said, and gave me a one-armed hug with the arm that

wasn't full of newspapers. That was a first, and I smiled up at him.

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," Peter said, as I went to my room.

The next morning, while I was pouring cornflakes into a bowl, I brought up the subject of going to see Gramps.

All of the guys said they had something to do, and couldn't go with me right then.

"I can go by myself," I said, and when Davy looked at me, frowning slightly, I added, "Really. I can." I smiled at him. "I've been

doing it for a long time. Remember?"

"I don't like the idea of it," Davy said. "Now that I've seen how long it is to get there."

"And two different buses," Micky added, jumping into the conversation.

"It's not dark or anything, though," I pointed out. "It's safe enough."

"I'd rather you waited for one of us," Davy said, and for a moment I was stunned into silence.

I set the box of Cornflakes down, and looked at Davy, and then at the rest of the guys.

"For real?" I asked.

"For real," Davy said.

"I can go with you this afternoon," Peter said.

"Okay," I said, and poured milk over my cereal. I was still sort of surprised by how everything had happened.

Peter did go with me that afternoon, and when we switched to the second bus, there wasn't any seats left for us to sit together.

I was squished into a seat with a lady and a younger guy, who reeked of marijuana, and put his arm around the back of my seat. Every

once in awhile his arm would drop a little, and touch my shoulder. I moved forward, shaking his arm off.

"Relax," he told me, with a loose grin, and laid a hand on my knee.

"You're relaxed enough for both of us," I told him, moving his hand, but he was so high that he just grinned at me, and put his hand back on my

leg again, squeezing it.

Before I realized it, Peter had come to stand beside the seat I was in, and reached in to pluck me up.

"There you are," he said, taking me by the hand and pulling me to my feet. "You know the doctor said you're in the contagious

stage with your measles."

The lady in the seat looked alarmed, and even marijuana man looked startled. "Measles?" he asked.

"Yeah. Measles," Peter said, totally straight-faced. "I hope you didn't touch her or anything."

And he pulled me to the back of the bus, where we stood the rest of the ride.

"Measles, huh?" I hissed at him.

Peter reached out and ran a finger over my cheek. "It looks like a spot here." Then he touched my other cheek. "And here." He tapped

my nose. "And here, too."

I burst into giggles.

When we were walking to the rehab center from the bus stop, Peter brought up the guy on the bus.

"Looks like he was a little too friendly," Peter said. "I'll make sure we sit together on the way back."

"I handled it alright," I said.

"You shouldn't have to handle it, though," Peter said, and then he smiled at me. "That's what I'm here for. To be

your protector."

He was such a sweet guy. I couldn't help but smile back at him.

"I think that's cool. You being my protector," I told him.

As we reached the doors of the rehab center, I said, "But we don't have to mention that guy to Davy, do we?"

7


	20. Ringo Starr

A few more days of peace and contented happiness on my part passed by. I was feeling thoroughly at home, and comfortable by now,

living in the pad, with the guys. Every day that went by I learned more about each of them, and the little quirky things that made them who they

were as individuals.

Micky was a cut-up, a goof. He was always up for telling a joke, or doing an impersonation of somebody. I learned that he did have his moments of

seriousness, too, though. When you were talking to him about something important, he would tilt his head, and listen, giving you his undivided attention.

Mike was serious-minded, though he had a quirky comical side to himself. I found him interesting, and we began to have long talks about different things.

Davy went on the way that he'd began with me. Sweet, and funny, and a good friend.

I soon formed a tight bond with Peter, probably due in part to all the hours we spent in the water, with him continuing his swimming lessons with me. He

was sweet, too, and I thought that he must be one of the kindest people that I'd ever known. One day we found an abandoned kitten on the beach,

soaked with water from when the waves rolled in. Peter wrapped the kitten in a towel, and we rubbed its fur until it was warm again.

I was cuddling it against my face, and I asked Peter what we should do with it.

For a moment he didn't say anything, and I added, "We can't just leave it here, can we? It'll get washed into the water again and drown."

"That's probably right," he agreed.

"Can we keep it?" I asked.

Peter rubbed the kitten's head, his expression soft. "We can take it home," he allowed. "We'll have to talk to the other guys. I think Micky might

be allergic, but I don't remember exactly."

So I carried the kitten back up the beach to the pad. Nobody else was home right then, and after we'd both changed to dry clothes,

Peter got some milk and poured it into a bowl, and we sat together on the couch, watching as the kitten lapped it up greedily. After that, it began

to play, trying to catch the end of a piece of string that Peter found.

We were laughing, when the other guys came in the front door.

When they saw the kitten, they immediately came over to the couch.

"Hey, a kitten," Davy exclaimed, reaching down to pick it up.

"Aw," Micky said, rubbing the kitten's head.

"You're not allergic?" I asked him, hopefully.

"To cats?" Micky asked. "Naw, I'm not."

"I thought you were allergic," Peter told him.

"Nope," Micky said, and took the kitten from Davy.

Mike had been standing there, not saying anything, and I looked up at him hopefully.

"Do you like cats, Mike?" I asked.

"I don't have anything against them," he said, with his drawl.

I looked at them all, in turn. "Can we keep it?" I asked.

"A little kitten won't cost much to feed," Davy said.

"It's cool," Micky said.

Mike shrugged. "Okay by me," he said, and went towards the kitchen.

Micky handed the kitten back to me, and I rubbed my cheek against his fur.

"Thanks, guys," I said. "I never had a pet before."

That got their attention. "Never?" Micky asked, incredulously.

"No. Never."

"What're you gonna name it?" Davy asked me.

"I don't know. You guys help think of names," I told him.

After some debate, the kitten was christened Ringo, in honor of Ringo Starr.

The kitten slept with me that night, and the next morning, was scampering around the living room, while we all pitched in to

clean. Davy answered the phone's ringing, and called to me, "For you, Beth!"

I wondered if it would be Gramps calling. I didn't really know anyone else that it might be.

"Hello," I said cheerfully.

"Hello, Beth," came a voice that I would have liked to have never heard again.

For a moment, I was quiet. "What do you want?" I asked, low.

"We need to talk," Sasha said. "Meet me tonight, by that big rock up on the beach. About nine."

Then, before I could respond or protest, she hung up.

I hung the phone receiver up slowly, and stood there. I found that I was shaking with nerves.

Mike came into the kitchen, his hands full of glasses that he'd gathered from the living room. He put the glasses into the sink.

"Hey," he said to me.

"Hey," I echoed.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Uh huh," I said, but I avoided his eyes.

"We're gonna go get some hamburgers from the snack shack," he said.

"Okay," I said, trying to sound normal.

He paused beside me. "Well, come on then," he prompted.

"I think I'll stay here," I said. I just wanted to be alone, and try to gather my thoughts.

By now Davy and Peter were standing nearby.

"Hurry up," Peter urged everybody. "I'm starving." He caught at my hand, pulling me towards the door.

"I think I'll stay here," I protested.

"No way," Peter said, and kept towing me along. It was easier to give in, so I did, going along with them down the beach,

to the snack shack.

When we all had our hamburgers, we found a table to sit at, and Micky went to get five bottles of Coke.

I sipped at my Coke, and nibbled at my hamburger. My stomach was knotted with nerves. I wondered how I could get out of

going to meet Sasha.

Davy gave me a dig in the ribs with his elbow. "What's on?" he asked, in English slang.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Usually by now, you would have finished your own hamburger, and tried to steal half of ours," he said.

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Guess I'm still full from breakfast," I said.

"Tell another one," Davy said, thinking I was joking.

I tried to finish my hamburger, so as not to raise any more suspicion. Apparently, my healthy appetite, which the guys often compared

to that of a lumberjack's, was going to be my downfall.

Back at the pad, I tried to carry on, acting as normally as possible. I guess I wasn't so very good at hiding my feelings, though, because

mid-afternoon, Davy caught me alone, and after he'd sat down on the couch, he said, "Come sit with me."

I had my hands full of folded towels, and I hesitated, looking at him.

"I need to put these away," I began.

"In a minute," he said. "Come on."

I sighed a little, but not so loud that he would be able to hear me, and went to sit beside him, the towels still in my arms.

"What's on?" he asked again. "You've not been yourself today."

"I'm fine," I said.

When he just looked at me, waiting, I said, "I guess I've just got a lot on my mind."

"Is it something that's worrying you?" he asked. "Your grandfather?"

I seized on the obvious topic that was being offered to me.

"Yeah. I guess I am worried about Gramps," I said.

"Well, what?" Davy asked. "He was doing fine when we were there last, wasn't he?"

"Uh huh."

"What is it then, in particular?"

"I just want him to make a full recovery. You know, be able to walk normally, and all of that," I said, snatching at the first thing that

came to mind.

"I've talked to the caregivers there. He's doing fine, they say. He may have a bit of a limp, but for a man of his age, he's doing

very well."

I nodded in response.

"I don't want you to worry about when he's able to leave the rehab center. We'll all work together, and figure something out," Davy

went on.

He was so sweet, and thoughtful. I felt quick tears threatening. Here he was, thinking of helping Gramps and I, and I selfishly hadn't been

thinking of that at all. I'd been thinking of myself, and this whole Sasha debacle.

For a moment, I couldn't answer, past the lump in my throat. I felt so bad, like I was lying to Davy, not telling him about Sasha, and

making a full confession of everything.

"Davy-" I began tremulously.

"Yeah?"

I sighed, and shook my head, "Nothing," I said. "Thank you. For saying that about helping Gramps."

"Well, I mean it."

"I know you do," I said.

Davy gave me a smile, flashing those perfect teeth. "Feel better?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I assured him, trying to sound full of pep. "Thanks, Davy."

He gave me a hug, and dropped a kiss on the top of my head. "No problem," he said, and then flashed another smile. "Who's going to

vacuum? Me or you?"

MMPD


	21. Sliding doors and waiting Mike

The rest of the afternoon I was absorbed in my own thoughts, trying to figure out if I should ignore Sasha's summons, or go to

meet her that night. I was worried that if I didn't go, she would show up and be angry, which would in turn cause questions

to be asked by the guys. And then they might find out about all the games that Sasha and I had run on people, and about the stealing.

We had homemade pizza for dinner, with tall glasses of milk. I ate what I could, so they didn't all start asking me about

my lack of appetite again.

As the early evening arrived, I was still struggling with what to do. I was so worked up that my stomach was hurting.

I thought there was no way I could go outside at nine that night without the guys noticing anyway. That was before I found out

they were going to do some work at a friend's, the next floor down, helping them lay new carpeting, and then hang around there and play some music.

As they were telling me about it, they seemed to all think that I would go along with them.

"I think I'll stay here," I said, trying to sound casual.

Peter and Davy looked at me, surprised.

"You don't want to stay here all alone again tonight, do you?" Peter asked.

"It's fine," I assured him. "Really."

Davy was looking puzzled, too. "There's gonna be a couple of girls there around your age," he told me. "Cousins of Don's."

"Oh."

"It's a good chance for you to make some new friends," he went on.

I was really at a loss for words. Since I'd told the guys that I did want to make new friends, it was going to look weird if I resisted

going.

I thought quickly. It was around seven-thirty now. I could go along for awhile, and then make an excuse to go back down to the pad, and

then slip out to meet Sasha. So I told Davy that I would go along, and he and Pete both looked so pleased that I felt a rush of guilt.

When we all got downstairs, we were greeted by Don and Carrie, whose apartment it was, and another couple, Lee and his girlfriend, whose

name I couldn't remember. And the two teen girls that Davy had told me about, the ones that were cousins of Don's. Their names were

Lila and Pilar, and they were friendly. It turned out that they lived several streets over, and would be going to the same junior high school

as I would, when school began.

I was actually enjoying myself, talking to the girls. It was nice to be with kids my age who were 'normal'. Not like Sasha.

We went into another bedroom and were listening to the newest record from the Beatles. When I saw that there was only ten minutes

or so until nine o'clock, I felt regretful, but I got to my feet.

When I told the girls that I had to go, they seemed genuinely sorry to see me go. We exchanged phone numbers, and they went on listening

to the record, while I went in search of at least one of the guys. Peter would be my best bet, I thought. Easier.

But when I went into the crowded bedroom, where the carpet was being laid, there were guys everywhere, crawling around on their knees,

and using hammers to tack carpet pins to the floor.

I hesitated at the open doorway. Don saw me first.

"Hi," he said, in a friendly way. "You and the girls getting along alright?"

"Yes. They're really nice."

"Good," he said, and when he'd stepped away, I thought that I had no time to waste. Sasha would seize on any excuse to

do something to hurt me.

So I picked the closest one of the guys, which happened to be Mike. He was standing up, and coming over to the doorway, where he

grabbed a handful of carpet nails out of the box by the door.

"Hey, Mike," I said, and he turned to look at me.

"I'm gonna head back upstairs," I told him, keeping my voice low.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked me.

"No," I thought, scrambling for something to tell him. "I-just have a little bit of a headache, that's all."

"Yeah?" he asked, looking concerned.

"It's not bad or anything," I said quickly. "I just think I'll go to bed."

"Okay," he said.

"You guys will probably be quite a while here yet, won't you?" I asked then.

For a moment, I thought Mike was on to me.

"Probably," he said, looking thoughtful.

"Well, I'll probably head to bed then, like I said," I said in a rush. "See you all in the morning."

"Okay," he said again.

I said goodbye, and left quick. I dashed upstairs, and thru the pad, and then out the patio doors, and down the stairs,

trying to keep my heart from pounding.

Once on the beach, I slowed down a little. I was on my way now. I wasn't going to break a leg getting there. Let Sasha wait.

There were a few people out, walking the beach. When I got closer to the big boulder where Peter and I sometimes sat after our

swimming sessions, I could make out the shadow of a person, and the lit, red tip of a cigarette.

I slowed my steps.

"You decided to come, huh?" Sasha's asked. "I thought you weren't going to show."

"I'm here," I said.

"How'd you slip away from your babysitters?" she asked, laughing.

I didn't even answer that, but it didn't start her from continuing. "They seem as though they keep a sharp eye on you," she said. "More

like jailers, aren't they?"

"They're not," I defended. I gathered my spunk. "I didn't come here to talk about them. What do you want?"

Sasha tossed the cigarette to the ground, and took a couple of steps nearer to me.

"Tough girl," she said. "I need you to help with a couple of jobs that I've got lined out."

"You said you'd get somebody else," I reminded her. "I told you I was done with all that stuff."

"Well, it's actually shocking, but not that many people are interested in this line of work," she said, and she laughed again, and I thought

she sounded like a maniac.

When I didn't say anything, she went on. "We actually made a pretty good team, Beth."

"I don't want to do anything like that anymore," I said. "It's bad enough whenever I remember it."

"It's a couple of jobs. And then you can be done. I'll say 'have a good life' and disappear, and you'll never have to see me again."

"I wouldn't ever be that fortunate," I said, with venom in my voice.

"Beth, Beth, Beth," Sasha said, making a clicking sound with her tongue. "You're forgetting everything that I've done for you."

"Done for me?! What have you ever done for me?" I demanded, feeling my anger rise.

"I kept your butt out of juvenile hall, and out of the foster care system," she said.

"How do you figure that?"

"You never got caught, did you? You would have gone to juvie if you'd been caught, but I kept that from happening. And you'd have been

in foster care for sure by now, if I hadn't helped you make money."

I was silent, and she said, in a menacing way, "Two jobs, Beth. And then we'll part ways. If you refuse, well, I think an anonymous letter

could be sent to those four guys who think you're such an innocent angel. I wonder what they'd think if they were to be told about all

the things you've been involved in." In the light from the beach poles, I saw her shrug a little. "Who knows? Maybe I could even put

a few extra things in that letter. Things you didn't actually do."

"They wouldn't believe you," I said, in a near whisper, thinking she was evil, thru and thru.

"Ah, but you're not really sure about that, are you, Beth?" she asked, and I felt a chill going down my back. "They might

believe it. I can be pretty convincing. Even when I write."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, feeling as though I was cornered.

"Meet me tomorrow morning, just before lunch, about eleven. And in that spot way up the beach where we used to meet at," she told me. "There's

some convention in town, a bunch of teachers on summer break. It'll be easy to lift a few wallets."

I turned and began to walk away. I didn't see any point to continue standing there.

I had gone but a few feet when she called after me, "Be there, Beth! Or I'll be real busy writing that letter!"

I plodded up the beach thru the sand, feeling as though my feet weighed twenty pounds each. Twice, on my way back to the pad,

I had to stop, and double over, feeling as though I was going to be sick.

I climbed the long row of steps, going up to the pad, and pushed open the sliding doors to go inside. I'd started to pull them shut

again, and saw something in the corner of my eye. When I turned, I caught my breath, my heart jumping, at the sight of Mike sitting there, on the

couch. He had his guitar in his hand, and had one foot crossed over the opposite knee.

He laid the guitar to the side as I looked at him, and then he looked up at me, too. He didn't say anything, though, and there

was something about his body language that unnerved me.

"Mike! Hi," I said. "You scared me!"

"I didn't intend to," he said.

I looked at him, not sure of what to say. My heart was still jumping at the surprise of seeing him sitting there. I'd thought that they would

all be downstairs still, at Don's apartment.

"Pull the door closed," he said.

"What?" I said, feeling as if I was in a daze.

"The door. Pull it closed."

"Oh." I turned back to the sliding doors, and gave them another pull to close. I pulled too hard, and one came off the runner at the bottom.

"Uh oh," I said, and looked at Mike.

He got to his feet unhurriedly, and came over to the doors, where he gave a couple of lifts and pulls, and put the door back on its groove,

and then he closed it.

When he'd done that, he went back to sit on the couch again. He recrossed his foot over his opposite knee.

"Where've you been?" he asked me, quietly.

For a moment, I was silent, thinking hard.

"I-I went for a walk," I said. There. That wasn't a lie.

"I thought you were goin' to bed," he commented.

I looked at him, feeling panic rise. It seemed as if he knew something.

"I decided to go for a walk," I said, sounding lame even to my own ears.

"Is your headache any better?"

"Yeah. It's better."

He watched me for a couple of long moments. "Were the other girls at Don's nice to you?" he asked.

"Yes. They were really nice."

"So you were havin' fun?" he asked.

"Yeah. I was," I said, without thinking.

"And then you got a headache," he said, and it wasn't really a question the way that he said it.

I looked at him, without answering. There was something in his voice. And in his expression. I couldn't put my finger

on just what it was. But it was something.

"I got to worrying about your headache, so I thought I'd come up and check on ya," he said.

"Thank you for worrying about me," I said.

"Uh huh," he said, his eyes still intent on me. "Then when I got up here, you weren't here. So I got worried about that."

I felt my stomach do sort of a loop de loop.

"I'm sorry for making you worry," I said.

Mike didn't really answer that. Instead he said, "Is there anything you wanna talk about with me?"

"No," I said, way too quickly.

He raised an eyebrow, and I tried to smooth it over. "I mean, no, there's not anything. You guys have been so nice to me. And to Gramps.

And we're both so grateful to you. I don't know what I would have done if you guys hadn't come along. I-"

Into my rush of words, Mike said, "Beth."

I stopped talking. "What?"

"If you don't want to talk about anything, then you can just say that."

I looked at him, feeling foolish. And guilty.

"Okay," I mumbled.

"I better get back downstairs to help," he said. He stood up, and walked towards the door. Once there, he paused, and turned

to look back at me.

"Next time you decide to take a walk, let somebody know, alright? I really was worried."

"Okay," I managed to say, my face feeling warm.

MMPD


	22. Talking it thru

I went to bed after Mike had gone, even foregoing my usual bedtime snack. My stomach was still tied in knots. I felt

even worse now after talking to Mike. I wondered what he was really thinking. I've learned to read the other three guys

pretty well, on what they're thinking or feeling. But Mike is different. More reserved. Not so open, or easy to figure.

I curled up under my blankets. They smelled so good. Clean. Like Downy fabric softener.

The guys had told me that I could treat the room as though it were really mine, and Davy had even gone out and

gotten me a couple of posters. One of the Beatles, and one of the old movie 'Casablanca', when he found out that

I was a fan of it.

Pete had brought home a couple of pink sparkly pillows from the flea market up on the main street above the beach, so the

room would look more girly for me.

I laid there, feeling guilty as sin, and miserable. What if I did go to 'help' Sasha the next day? If I did, would she

leave me alone then, like she promised? Or was that just her running her mouth to get me to do what she wanted me to

do? And, though I'd known all along that it was wrong, what we did, it was even worse now. At least before, I'd done it

because I needed the money to survive. Now there was no such problem.

I was safe, and had plenty to eat, and a temporary home with the guys. I was treated well. Very, very well.

If I did it again, like she demanded, it would be only to prevent her from ratting me out. I thought about that

for a while. I didn't want the guys, none of them, to know what I had done before I met them.

I mean, I knew they liked me. Cared about me. Though my mind was shy of saying the word, I think they even

might love me a little. I knew how I felt about them. I thought they were kind. And funny. And generous. I adored

them. My feelings were near to love for them. Oh, who was I kidding? I did love them. Especially Davy and Pete.

If they found out what I had done before, would they still like me, and want me around? Or would they think I was

a incorrigible kid, that they would be sorry that they had invited into their lives?

I was still awake when I heard them come in. The small light-up clock beside the bed proclaimed that it was

nearly midnight. They were laughing, and scuffling around, but weren't as loud as normally, and I knew it

was because they thought I was asleep, and they didn't want to wake me up.

I heard them in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and the refrigerator. After a few minutes, I heard

footsteps, coming towards the room, not heavy, but quiet-like.

I closed my eyes and pulled up the blanket, feigning sleep. The door was pushed open, and then a little light

shone into the room.

"Bethie?" said a voice, very softly.

It was Pete. I thought about keeping on with my pretense, but somehow I just didn't want to anymore.

I turned so that my face was towards him, and opened my eyes. "Hi," I said.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked.

"No. I wasn't asleep."

He came a little further into the room. "Mike says you had a headache, and weren't feeling good."

"I'm alright now," I said. Though, truthfully, I wasn't. My stomachache was real. Not like my fake

headache.

"Okay. I just wanted to check on you," he said, and his voice was so kind, so sweet, that I felt tears spring

to my eyes.

"I'm alright," I said again.

"I'll let you get to sleep then. Goodnight."

"Night," I said. And then, when he was nearly to the door of the bedroom, I said, "Pete?"

"Yeah?" he asked, turning back.

I hesitated just slightly. "Never mind," I said.

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Night."

MMPD

The next morning at breakfast, I didn't eat with my usual enthusiasm. A fact which did not go unnoticed by any of the

guys.

"What's wrong?" Davy asked. "Still have your headache?"

"No."

"Well, eat up," he urged.

When Micky brought up the recent burglaries in the neighborhood, specifically the one just down the beach, I lost

what little appetite that I did have.

"What happened?" Peter asked, and Micky launched into a long, detailed description of the crime.

"The girl that's been housesitting for the owners was gone for a couple of hours, and when she got home it looked as

though some stuff had been moved around. But she didn't see anything missing, so she just blew it off. Then the next

day she noticed that the money she'd left in a drawer was gone. Later, it turns out, there was some jewelry missing, too.

Real valuable stuff," Micky said.

"Where are the owners of the house?" Davy asked.

"They've been on vacation. But they're back now. They're the ones that discovered there was jewelry missing."

"Did they bust in the door, or what?" Mike asked.

"No, man, that's what crazy. There was no forced entry, or anything," Micky went on.

"That is crazy," Davy said.

I got up, really quickly, and went to take my bowl to the sink. I couldn't stand it anymore. I went outside, sliding the

glass doors, and pulling them shut again. I sat down in one of the lounge chairs on the patio, trying to make

my heart stop pounding so hard.

It was no time and the doors slid open, and Davy stood there, one foot inside, and one foot outside.

"What's on?" he asked, which I knew by now basically meant 'what's wrong'."

"Nothing," I said, looking out towards the ocean water, and not at him.

"Something is," he insisted.

I shook my head, still not looking at him.

He stood there for a moment, as if considering, and then he came on out, in bare feet, closing the door behind him.

He sat down in the chair next to mine, leaning forward a little and folding his hands together.

"Are you lonesome for your grandfather?" he asked. "Or worried about him?"

"It's not that," I said, low, watching the waves.

"I thought we agreed to be honest with one another," he said then.

I gave him a quick, startled look.

"Didn't we?" he prompted me.

I looked away and back out toward the water again. "Yes."

There was a moment's silence from him, and then he said, "I'm a good listener."

I sighed, and looked at him. "I know you are."

"Then give," he ordered.

I licked my lips nervously, thinking that he must be able to hear the pounding of my heart.

"Before I met you, I didn't have enough money," I began, and then hesitated.

Davy tilted his head, and waited.

"I told Gramps that I was babysitting for some kids in the neighborhood. But I really wasn't."

"No?" he asked.

"No."

I twisted my legs to where I was facing him. "I met some kids that weren't so good. They-" I stopped.

"They what?" he asked, looking concerned.

I sighed heavily again. Looking at his open face, I just couldn't make myself go on.

"I can't tell you," I said.

Clearly, he'd thought that he'd gotten thru to me, and that I was ready to confide in him. His face showed

disappointment when I said that I couldn't tell him.

"Bethie," he said, in a disappointed tone.

"I'm sorry!" I said, standing up so quickly that I caught my foot under the chair. I gave the chair a push.

Davy caught my hand as I started to go past him. I looked at him, again, which was not a good idea, because the

expression on his face was partly sad, and partly disappointment.

"Come on, now," he said. "It can't be that bad."

"You'd be surprised," I muttered.

"Well, whatever it is, we can talk about it. If you need help, we'll help you."

"You can't," I said, feeling hopeless.

Davy sighed a little now, too, and stood up, still holding onto my hand.

"Haven't you learned by now that I have superpowers?" he asked me, and then smiled that killer smile. The one

that he'd smiled at me the first day that I'd met him on the beach.

"It wouldn't surprise me if you do," I said.

"So talk to me, then."

I studied him for a long, long moment. "You'll hate me if I tell you."

"That's rubbish," he said, losing his smile. "There's nothing you could have done that would make me hate you."

"Well, maybe you won't hate me," I amended. "But you'll be sorry that you invited me to stay here. You'll be sorry

you tried to help me."

"No," he said, sounding firm. "I won't be."

"It might change things between us. I don't want that."

"Then we won't let it change things," he said.

"Okay," I said. "But can we go for a walk while I tell you about it? Down the beach?"

"We can do that," he said. "Let me go tell the guys."

As he stepped inside, I turned to face the water again, watching as the waves crashed together.

MMPD


	23. Breaking the silence

Davy and I had been walking for a few minutes, straight down the beach, towards the big rocks. He was quiet, not

rushing me into talking. We walked to the edge of the water, and I sat down, not even caring that I was going to get my

jeans all wet.

Davy sat down beside me, and I pulled my legs up to the chest, wrapping my arms around my knees.

"You know that girl?" I began. "Sasha?"

"Yeah?" he said, looking at me kindly.

"She's not really my friend."

"I didn't think that she really was," Davy said. "She doesn't seem like the sort of girl you'd be friends with."

I knew just what he meant, but it made me feel worse to hear him say it.

"Maybe not friends, but I'm more like her than you think I am."

"How so?" he asked quietly.

"We used to run a game on people that came to the beach," I said.

He furrowed his forehead quizzically, and I knew he didn't know the phrase, 'run a game'.

"We used to play a trick," I said, more specifically. "We'd pick out a certain group, or a family, and then Sasha would

start crying and hollering, and everybody would run over to her to see what was wrong. Sometimes she'd pretend she was

having a really painful headache, and sometimes she'd act hysterical and say that she'd lost the money she needed for

her little brother's medicine. Something like that."

I could see that Davy had no idea at all where I was going with this, because he asked, "Why?"

"So that I could slip over-to where they had their stuff on blankets," I said.

Davy frowned a little, but I could see he still didn't get it.

I sighed heavily, and hugged my knees tighter. "So I could take their wallets," I said. "Or their watches."

And then I waited, feeling miserable.

Davy sighed heavily. "Aww, Bethie," he said, sounding sad.

I couldn't stand the look on his face. It was full of sadness, surprise, disappointment.

I turned away, so that I was looking the opposite way, and laid my head on my knees. There was several minutes of quiet.

"When did you do it last?" he asked me.

"Not since I met you guys."

"Oh. Well, that's good," he said.

I turned to face him again, raising my head. "I think the last time was actually the day I met you."

He nodded, watching me seriously. Serious, but he didn't look angry.

"Is that all?" I asked him. "You're not gonna tell me how I should have been better than that? Or that there's always

a better way than what I did?"

"No. I'm not gonna say those things. I know that you're better than that. You were in a bit of a spot. I don't know

that you knew of a better way. At the time, anyway."

To say I was surprised by his calmness, by his words, well, that would have been an understatement. Shocked would have described

it way more accurately.

My eyes filled with tears, and I rubbed at my cheek, embarrassed. "You don't hate me?" I asked, my voice

shaking a little.

"Of course not."

"She wants me to help her do it again," I ventured, and now Davy did look way less easy-going.

"What did you tell her?" he asked.

I hesitated. "I didn't really say yes. And I didn't really say no."

"Why not?" he asked, his voice not quite so kind.

"She said she was going to tell you, all you guys. She said she'd even write you an anonomous letter, and put stuff in it

that I didn't even really do!"

"So what if she had?" he demanded.

"Well," I searched for the right words, "I got scared. She said none of you would want me around anymore, if you knew

what I'd done, and what sort of a person that I am!"

"I know now what you've done, don't I?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, wondering what he was getting at.

"And, knowing it, I still want you around. I know the other guys will feel the same. So that excuse is out the window. And

I'm fairly confident that I know what sort of a person that you are. I don't need anybody to tell me. You're a fantastic

person," he said.

I stared at Davy, my eyes shimmering with tears. "You think that about me?" I asked.

"Sure, I do." He sighed a little. "It wasn't right, what you did. But you know that, already. The important thing

is that you don't ever do anything like it again."

"I won't," I said, really softly.

He was looking thoughtful, and I waited.

"When does she want you to meet her again?" he asked.

"Today."

"Hmm," he said. "Well, you go and meet her. And you tell her that you're done. And that if there's any more

of it around here, and we hear about it, that we'll call the police."

"I was thinking-" I began, and then stopped.

"What?" he asked.

"I was thinking that I just wouldn't go to meet her. Then I don't have to see her. It doesn't matter now

if she mails a letter to you."

"I guess that's one way of handling it," he said, and I could tell that he disapproved.

"But you don't want me to do it that way, do you?" I asked him.

"Naw. I think you should meet her, face to face. Tell her not to come 'round or have any further ideas of you being

a part of her plans," he said. "Then she'll know for sure and for certain that you're out."

"I guess you're right," I said. It had gone so much better than I'd expected, talking to Davy, that I wished I was done.

But I wasn't.

"She's the one who took that stuff from the people who were on vacation," I said. "Her and that guy you saw me talking to that day."

Davy lost his composure. "You're having me on," he said.

I shook my head at him.

He actually looked frightened. "How do you know that, Beth? You weren't a part of that, please tell me that you

weren't."

"I was there, but I left," I said quickly.

"But you knew about it," he said. "All this time?"

"Yes."

He was quiet, looking out over the water. "Well, we have to do what's right. We'll have to call the police."

In panic I struggled to my knees in the sand, looking at him imploringly. "But, Davy-"

"We have to."

"What about me?" I asked him, feeling as though my heart was going to come out of my chest.

"What about you?"

"What will they do to me? Will I have to go to juvie?" I asked, my breath coming fast.

"What's the juvie?" Davy asked, puzzled.

"Juvenile hall!" Baby jail!" I said, raising my voice. "Since I was there at the house, and I knew about it, and then they'll have to know about

the beach thefts, too!"

"You won't have to go to juvenile hall," Davy said calmly.

"I don't want to talk to the police! I won't do it!"

Instead of answering, Davy just looked at me. There was a different expression on his face now. It wasn't anger,

but it was more set, intractable.

He got up, brushing sand from his jeans. Then he held out a hand to me, to help me to my feet.

I ignored his hand for the moment, looking out towards the water.

"Bethie," he prompted.

"You said you'd help me!" I accused him.

"That's what I'm going to do," he said, still holding out his hand to me.

"No," I refused.

In response, Davy reached down and took my hand on his own, and gave me a tug. Other than fighting

him, I had no other choice than to let him pull me up.

We walked back to the beach house without either of us saying a word.

MMPD


	24. If I were

When Davy and I got back to the beach house, and started up the stairs to the pad, I found that I was shaking.

I was so upset that I felt as though I wanted to cry. He paused at the doors, to let me go in ahead of him, which I did.

I went past Pete, who was sitting on the couch, strumming on his guitar, and past Mike, who was washing dishes in the

kitchen.

"Hey," Peter said to me, in greeting.

I went on past him, and past Mike, too, and to the right, to my bedroom. Technically, I thought, feeling angry,

it wasn't my room at all. It was Davy and Peter's room. This wasn't my house at all.

I shut the door a little louder than what was necessary, and threw myself onto the bed, face down in the pillows.

And then I did start to cry. I don't know how long I was in there, but it was long enough to finish crying and

turn over on my back, staring at the ceiling.

A light tap on the door, and then it opened just the slightest bit. "Bethie?"

Pete. I turned my face a little, towards the wall, so he wouldn't see my red eyes.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Would it matter if I said no?" I asked, not nicely.

For a long moment, there was silence, and then Peter said, "I won't come in if you don't want me to."

And, just like that, I felt as though I was the lowest person around. Being mean to Peter is like having a hand

in hurting Bambi.

"It's okay," I said, and when he'd come in, and sat down on the edge of the bed, I turned so that I was

looking up at him.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," I said.

"It's forgotten," he said.

I laid there and looked at him, studying his kind face.

"Did Davy tell you?" I asked.

"He told us. We understand how it was. We don't judge you."

"Even Mike?" I asked doubtfully.

"Mike gets it."

I looked away from his gaze. "Davy wants me to talk to the police."

Peter gave a light shrug. "It's the right thing."

I turned on my side, away, and after a few moments of silence, Peter said, "We're gonna be eating soon."

I didn't answer, and he got up and went out, closing the door softly behind him.

I was still laying like that, one arm under my head, staring at the wall, when there was another tap

on my door.

"Dinner, Beth," Davy said.

I was silent, and he opened the door, sticking his head in. "Are you awake?" he asked, more softly.

"I'm awake."

"Well, it's time to eat," he said.

"I'm not hungry," I said.

I heard him sigh, and he came closer to the bed, and ran his fingers down my arm.

"Come on, luv," he coaxed.

"You guys go on and eat without me," I said, my voice stiff.

Davy sighed again, a little heavier of a sigh, and went out of the room, closing the door just as softly as

Peter had a short while earlier.

It wasn't long, maybe another ten minutes or so, and there was another knock, this one more abrupt. The door

opened without even a request of permission, and I heard the sound of boots crossing the floor to the bed.

"You need to come and eat," Mike said, without preamble.

"I'm not hungry. I already told Davy that."

"This is just nonsense," he said, sounding irritated. "Davy's feelin' badly and he didn't do anything to feel that

way."

"He doesn't need to feel badly," I said, still staring at the wall. "I'm the criminal. Not him."

"Feelin' sorry for yourself isn't gonna help anything," Mike said.

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," I defended, turning over on my back to look up, way up, at him.

"That's the way I see it," he said.

I looked up at him, studying his face. "You don't like me much now, since you found out what I've done. Admit

it, Mike."

"I might dislike what you did, but I don't dislike you," he denied. "If I was to dislike you for somethin', it would

be that you're layin' in here, havin' a pity party, and makin' Davy and Pete feel as low as they are."

I blinked at his strong words, and felt tears threatening again.

"Gosh, Mike," I said, almost in a whisper.

"If you were my sister, I'd tell you to knock it off and come to eat, and then tell you to do what

you had to do to make it right, even if that means talking to the police," he went on, and then he

turned to walk to the door.

"I wish you were my brother," I said, really low, and he stopped walking, turning back, his hands on his

hips.

"How come?" he demanded.

"Because. If you were, then I don't think I'd be so scared," I said, still really low, blinking away tears.

Mike studied me from where he stood, looking as though he was thinking.

"Okay," he said. "Knock it off, Beth. Come and eat. After that, we'll call the police to talk to them."

I sat up, swinging my feet over the side of the bed.

"Okay," I said, brushing at my wet cheeks.

"Okay," he repeated, and I thought he smiled a little.

MMPD


	25. Pete's supper and a phone call

I walked back out towards the kitchen with Mike, edging behind him a little more as we got closer. Peter was

stirring something in a skillet that looked like some sort of hamburger mix with vegetables in it.

"Ready to eat?" Mike asked Peter, stopping to look into the skillet.

"Yep. Done to perfection," Peter said.

Micky was setting plates around the table, and he gave me a half-smile. "Need any help?" I asked.

"You can get out some glasses," he told me. "Maybe make some koolaid."

"Okay," I agreed. I was in the process of pulling glasses down from the cabinet when Peter said, "Hey, hand me a couple of

hot pads, will you, Bethie?"

I stopped what I was doing to go and open the drawer with the worn dish towels and hot pads. When I stepped back over to

hand them to him, Peter took them, and gave me a smile.

"Thanks," he said, and I hesitated beside him, somehow feeling shy. "Pete," I began, "I-" I stopped, searching for

words.

"It's okay, Bethie," he told me, sounding gentle.

I nodded, and went back to filling the glasses, and setting them around the table.

I could hear the sliding door opening and then closing again, and watched as Davy went to set the phone back down

on the table, pulling the cord along behind him.

He came into the kitchen then, too, and I felt my throat tighten. I knew he'd been talking to someone from the police

station. I busied myself putting ice cubes into the glasses, but I was really keeping my eyes on Davy.

"What'd they say?" Mike asked Davy quietly.

"They'll send somebody 'round after a bit," Davy said. "Maybe in an hour or so."

I was listening so intently that I dropped an ice cube from the bowl, and red-faced, I leaned over to pick it up

and put it into the sink. When I looked up again, Davy was watching me, his expression steady, but sad-seeming.

"I'm glad you decided to eat," he told me.

I didn't want to say that I didn't think I would be able to swallow a single bite, or that Mike had practically forced me

to come out of my room.

So, I just nodded, and then, when he passed close behind me, I turned, and before I lost my nerve, I

reached out to catch the sleeve of his shirt.

"Davy-" I began. "I shouldn't have treated you that way. I-" I hesitated. "I know you're just trying to help me. I'm sorry."

Davy reached out and put his arm around my waist. "Apology accepted," he said, and squeezed me just the slightest bit.

"So, an hour, huh?" I asked him then. "And then they'll come?"

He nodded in response.

"How many of them?" I asked, my voice quavering.

"I dunno, luv," Davy said, quietly.

"Let's eat," Peter announced, and everybody found their chair at the small table.

I ate hardly anything. I couldn't seem to get my throat to swallow properly. Not to mention that my stomach felt as though it

was tied in knots. Mostly I just sipped at my glass of koolaid, and pushed the food around on my plate.

"I really appreciate you guys letting me stay here the way that you have," I said, poking at a pepper with my fork. "It was

really nice of you all."

"We're glad you're here," Peter said.

"That's right," Micky added.

"Well," I went on, still keeping my eyes on my plate, "It was-kind of you, and I mean, you didn't have to do it-" I stopped talking,

my eyes filling with easy tears.

"Bethie," Peter began.

"I just want you guys to know that I'll never forget what you did for me," I rushed on, and then brushed at my cheeks.

"Stop talkin' as though you're going off to San Quentin," Mike said, reaching for another piece of bread.

I looked up at him thru my tears. "Well, but I'll probably be arrested-" I began.

"No, you won't," Mike dismissed.

"But I broke the law," I said, and now I made no attempt to hide my tears. "They'll have to arrest me, won't they?"

The four of them exchanged glances, and then, before they could speak, I went on in a trembling voice, "At the least I'll have to

go to juvenile hall-"

Before I could finish my sentence, Mike laid an arm across the back of my chair, and leaned in closer to me.

"Stop," he ordered.

"Well, but-" I began again.

"Stop," Mike said again, stronger this time.

I stopped, looking at him wide-eyed, though still teary. "It's gonna be fine," he said.

"We're not gonna let you go anywhere," Peter added.

I looked at his sweet face, and then at Mike's confident one.

"We've gotten sort of used to having you around," Micky said.

"Thanks, guys," I said.

Mike patted my back and then went back to eating. I looked to my left, where Davy sat.

Davy met my eyes and said, "My grandfather always said that when you tell the truth, no harm can come to you."

I thought about that for a moment, and then, though I didn't really agree with his grandfather at all, I just nodded at

Davy.

MMPD


	26. Home at last

I've let this story slide by and not be finished. And since an unfinished story on fanfiction is so not right...I'm going to try to finish it. Wrapping it up,

remember that this is set in the 1960s, so police involvement might have been more lenient for Beth.

MMPD

Last Chapter:

It wasn't long after that, that there was a knock on the door. We were, in fact, still sitting at the table. As soon as I heard the tapping, I put

my fork down, feeling my stomach clench a little. Davy got up to go and answer the door, and I heard Mike say,

"Hey," in a quiet way.

I looked at him, and he said, "Steady on," to me.

I nodded, and said, "Yes," but my voice was sort of a squeak.

Two uniformed cops came into the room, lead forward by Davy. Mike and Peter stood up, and there were introductions

all around, as to who was who. I sat still at the table, wishing I could shrink until I was invisible.

"Is this the young lady you mentioned when you called?" one of the officers asked Davy, looking at me.

"Ya, this is Beth," Davy said.

I stood up, wiping my sweaty hands on my shorts, nervously.

The two officers sat down on the sofa, and one of them took out a clipboard and a pen.

I was standing there, sort of awkwardly, while the guys all sat down, too. Well, except for Pete, who stood behind me,

his hands on my shoulders, in quiet support.

They began by asking me questions, simple ones at first, like my full name and age, and the address where Gramps and I had

lived at. Then Gramps' name, and information about his fall, which had led to him being in the rehabilitation center. How long had I

been living with my grandfather, the questions went on and on. How had I come to stay with the four guys?

Pete had eventually given me a gentle push over to the chair, and I sat down, while he sat on the arm of the chair beside me.

Then they got into the questions that were really difficult to answer.

Sasha's name, and how we'd met one another. What we'd done on the beach, to all those vacationing sun-seeking visitors.

I answered honestly, though it felt at times as though the words were caught in my throat.

"Tell me about the local home robbery," the officer that seemed to be in charge asked me. He looked grim and stern, and

I was frightened.

So I told him everything that I remembered about Sasha and the guy that she'd brought along. I didn't know his last name,

so I could only say the first name, and give a description of him.

Micky spoke up from where he sat, to say what he knew about the guy.

"So you went into the house?" the cop asked me, pinning me with his eyes. "But you're saying that you didn't help with the robbery?"

"No. I didn't. I left-Sasha got really angry about it. They came out, with some stuff, and they just walked away, like they weren't worried

about being seen or anything," I said.

"Alright," he said, and closed his notebook, reattaching his pen to the top. "I assume you're done with this sort of behavior?"

"Yes, sir, I am," I said, hoping that he was convinced I was being truthful.

"You need someone to look after you," he said. "Until your grandfather recovers."

This was it. I was headed to foster care. Or juvie. I felt my eyes fill with stupid, embarrassing tears.

"We're looking after her," Davy spoke up.

"She hasn't been involved in any trouble since she came to stay with us," Pete said.

"Her grandfather knows she's here, and he gave permission for her to stay," Mike said.

"It's working out fine," Micky added.

My guys were speaking up. All four of them. I waited. I couldn't speak past the lump in my throat.

"It's unconventional," the officer said.

Unconventional? That was an understatement, really. The four of them were the most unconventional people I'd ever known.

The officer turned his gaze back to me. "You want to stay here?" he asked.

I couldn't believe he was asking me that! Maybe...

"Yes," I said, sounding as though I was breathless. I wanted to say so much more. I managed to add, "I really do."

"Are you able to listen to what they have to say?" the cop asked me then.

"I listen to them," I said, still quietly.

"Well," he said slowly, "We'll talk to the grandfather ourselves. Make certain where he stands on this. If he is on board with all of it,

then we'll leave it as it is. For now."

Even with that 'for now' that he added at the end of his statement, I couldn't help the leap of hope and joy inside.

After that the officers said their goodbyes, and went on their way. As the guys had ushered them out the door, and then turned

back to face me, all of them standing in a semi-straight row, I stood up.

I let myself feel my joy, my relief, my contentment. I was safe, and protected. I had a real chance now. As did Gramps.

I gave them a smile. "Congratulations," I said. "It's a girl."

MMPD


End file.
